HOSTAGE!
by CutePoison
Summary: Ch 26 and the final epilogue is up Sara is held hostage, but what will be the ransom? Completely AU. Mike will be different in this story. Please keep this in mind if you decide to read this.
1. Chapter 1

(PLEASE NOTE: Michael will be different in this story. If you are not okay with this, please don't read.) Disclaimer: I own none of these amazing characters. No infringement is intended.)

The party was going full swing, but Sara was more then ready to leave. She had been hit on by countless men she had no interest in, and her third ginger ale was now warm in her hand.

She saw the hostess, her best friend Kirsty and made her way through the crowded room.

"Hey, Sara…" Her friend paused to study her, and then pretending to pout, "You're not having any fun are you?"

Sara shook her head the lie already on her lips, "It's not that. I just have a bit of a headache. I think I might head home, I mean, I haven't been much fun tonight anyways."

"You're right, you haven't been much fun tonight, "Kirsty teased, a gleam in her alcohol glazed eyes. "Just kidding, go home Sara, I know you worked late at the hospital tonight, besides this way I get that hot guy over there who has been checking you out."

Sara followed her friend's eyes to the man standing in the corner of the room. He had dark hair and was wearing jeans and a blue shirt, his face was covered in two day stubble. She met his eyes and he smiled.

Sara pulled her gaze back to Kirsty. "Well he isn't my type, so have at him."

Kirsty grinned, "Who is your type these days, Sara?"

Sara laughed and fished her keys out of her purse. "I don't have a type these days, Kirsty."

Her friend nodded. "Right, so I get them all!"

Sara shook her head and headed for the door as Kirsty headed across the room to greet Mr. Tall dark and handsome.

Sara was still smiling at her friend's antics as she took the stairs and headed down the walk to her car. She was parked on the street about a block down from Kirsty's apartment, and she had considered herself lucky to get such a close spot, what with having arrived so late to the party.

She spotted her car and pushed the key fob to unlock the doors. She was just about to step from the curb when a hand clamped over her lips. "Don't scream, don't do anything. Just nod if you understand me, Sara."

Sara nodded, her rapid breath shooting over his gloved fingers. He knew her name? She thought of the tall man at the party. Was it him? Her mind was screaming as he whispered instructions, the unmistakable pressure of his gun pressed to her side sure to leave a bruise in its wake.

Everything she had ever heard or read of self defense and abductions insisted if you let them get you into a car you were screwed. As this fact and many others Sara would have sworn she had forgotten flew through her head she was already moving.

She reached and grabbed his hand, twisting her body at the same time she was clamping her teeth onto his hand; the leather soft and gamy against her teeth as she shoved a knee towards what she hoped was his groin. Her knee made contact and her heart stopped before galloping onward faster then ever. There had been no satisfying grunt, and she knew she had somehow miscalculated, or maybe just underestimated her assailant.

He pulled her tight against him and brought his ski mask covered lips to her ear. But instead of saying anything, she just felt his hot breath against her. And then her body slumped and her eyes closed as the gun smashed against her head, the dark night fading to black.

Sara opened her eyes, a moan trapped behind the duct tape securing her lips. She twisted around on the small cot she was laying on, the springs beneath pressing into her through the thin mattress, as her mind screamed out in terror. Where was she, why was it so dark?

She began to twist frantically, but her thin arms were trapped behind her, aching in their sockets as she maneuvered. She kept fighting her bindings, but somewhere behind the trapped animal she had become she knew it was a lost cause, the duct tape securing her hands too strong; too tight to squirm out of.

She tried to twist her legs, but the tape held them tightly together hindering her movement. She was breathing hard through her nose, the loud inhalations and expelling of air the only noise in this tomb of a room.

Why was it so dark? She fought to calm her thoughts and racing heart. She was covered in a cold sweat and the smell of her own fear permeated the air around her. She closed her eyes and forced deep, even breaths, telling herself that she needed to act not react.

After some time the silence of her ringing ears holding precedence; her breath undetectable even to her own senses, Sara opened her eyes. She looked around the total darkness of the room. As her eyes adjusted she could make out a small dresser with a television set on top of it.

So the room wasn't completely dark. Her eyes moved to the window. A small fleck of light was present. The window was what, blacked out with paint? Had it chipped somehow, allowing her this small beacon of an outside world, where the worst thing that could happen was you would be stuck at a friend's boring party?

If only she hadn't left Kirsty's! Sara felt her eyes welling with tears at the hopelessness she was feeling and then the door opened and he stepped inside.

With a flip of a switch on the wall, light shattered through her aching skull sending a muffled moan from her tethered lips and her heart once again racing in fear.

Sara fought the urge to close her eyes and blinked against the bright light. Her head was pounding with each slamming pulse beat reminding her of the head injury she had sustained hours ago? Could hours have actually passed?

She forced her eyes to focus on the man's face, what she could see of it, he was wearing a hoodie which covered his head. Her mind raced as her vision adjusted from total darkness to the glaring bulb hanging overhead bringing his features into focus. Was this the same man who had grabbed her, the man in the ski mask, or was there more then one of them?

She worked the tape against her lips, the adhesive bitter against her tongue as she pried her lips slightly apart, hoping to free her mouth. Maybe twenty seconds had passed since the door opened but it felt like time had stopped as she silently worked, it's quick hands standing as still as the man standing before her, waiting. Waiting for what, her mind screamed?

And then he walked lazily into the room, each step concise as his long legs drew him closer. Sara felt her heart begin to pound faster, so hard in her temples, making her nauseous as the pain in her head intensified. She was struggling against her confines again, but when he stopped in front of the cot she ceased all movement.

He reached long, slim fingers to her and pressed them against the rapid pulse in her neck, a small smile touching his lips, but falling miles short of his icy blue orbs. He ran his fingers lightly down her neck and she flinched at his further touch making him laugh, a sound deep and deadly as the ocean. And then his hand fell away. He went back to the door, bringing false hope as he pulled it open. But he wasn't ready to leave yet.

He grabbed a chair just outside the room and then closing and locking the door, he carried the chair into the room placing it just in front of her where he straddled it. "No one even misses you…Yet." His voice was deep, his cryptic words chilling her to the bone.

His chin was resting on the backs of his hands where he gripped the chair back, studying her coldly. She slid back on the bed unaware of her own backward movement. She was trapped in his eyes like a deer in head lights.

Something about his eyes frightened her, so blue in contrast to the black cloak of the hooded sweatshirt draped over his features. But that wasn't what really scared her. What scared her most was the cunning sanity she saw in place of the lunacy one would expect to see in such an individual. This man was as sane as she was.

Sara felt a shiver run through her and her eyes grew wide as the realization hit her. He had known her name. This was far from random. He had grabbed her because of who she was. He had grabbed her because she was Sara Tancredi, daughter of Governor Frank Tancredi.

As he leaned forward her eyes grew wider still, and then he was gripping the tape, tearing it from her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

The abruptness of the tape leaving her lips was like a stinging slap to her tender flesh. Her eyes grew moist and she gasped before lowering her face to the thin mattress.

Her hair fell like a curtain to cover her face allowing her to hide but for a brief moment from his eyes.

But she could feel them on her; his eyes.

She took a deep breath and turned her head to meet his gaze. He studied her briefly and then reached as if it were nothing, moving the hair back from her face. His actions though not gentle, were not rough in the least, leaving Sara with a slim hope that maybe if she did as he asked, helped him even, maybe just maybe he wouldn't hurt her.

Her heart was pounding as the seconds ticked away in the quiet room. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. Her throat was so dry and her sticky lips still held the taste of the tape's adhesive. But at least her lips were free of their bondage, at least there was that.

"Um, my, ah, my father has money, if that's what this is about. He'll give you what ever you want…I know this." Her voice was hoarse as if she had been lucky enough to scream, but more then likely it was the dryness she couldn't seem to swallow down into her hollow stomach.

She watched as a smile claimed his lips. "I'm counting on that, Sara. I'm counting on you."

Sara shivered inwardly at his words, but made herself nod; made herself voice the sentence constructed in her head. "I'll do whatever you want…Just please don't hurt me."

His eyes narrowed a little at this, but before he could speak his cell phone chirped from somewhere on his person. Sara flinched as he jumped up.

He moved across the room and fished the phone from his pocket, his hood slipping down to rest on his back when the phone met his ear. "Talk to me, Paul. Tell me why I'm just now hearing from you…And it had better be good."

Sara tucked her head down and listened to the silence that followed as he took in Paul's explanation. She chanced a look up at him, taking in his features.

Now that he was hoodless she could see that his hair was dark, what there was of it. It was shorn close to his head military style, but Sara somehow doubted that he had ever belonged to the armed forces. She figured him to be around thirty; her own age, maybe slightly older. She studied his face, the stubble along his clenched jaw, he was obviously not happy with whatever 'Paul' was saying.

"You were supposed to be following her, Paul. If I hadn't been there we would have lost our chance." His eyes shot to Sara and she looked away, tucking her face back down to the mattress. She was afraid for him to see her staring.

More silence filled the room, and then, "Shut up, Paul, just shut the fuck up, okay? I don't wanna hear it. Just get here…Now." He flipped the phone closed and then she felt his eyes on her again.

He looked at her for a moment before speaking.

"Don't bother screaming, Sara, the room is soundproofed. I just kind of liked the idea of you waking up all bound and gagged...Adds to the ambiance of the whole thing, don't you think?" The cold humor in his voice was chilling.

Not waiting for a response he snapped off the light, and shut the door behind him.

Sara was once again alone in the darkness.

XXXXX

"Frank heard the phone ring, and flipped on the bedside lamp. It was after 2:00am. Who could be calling him so late? Sara? He grabbed up the phone and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Governor Tancredi?" The voice was synthesized making identification impossible.

Frank's body stiffened and then he was pushing back the blankets, his bare feet hitting the floor. "Yes, this is Frank Tancredi, what can I ah…what can I do for you?"

There was silence, making Frank anxious that the caller had hung up, and then, "It's not what you can do for me, Governor, but what you can do for yourself... for Sara."

At the mention of his daughter's name Frank took a deep breath. He let it out. "What about my daughter? Who is this? If you have harmed my daughter in any way…"

"Shut up, Frank. Shut up and listen to me old man. If you want to see your daughter alive you will do as I say, do you understand?"

The cold voice didn't wait for a response. "You have something I want, I have something you want. I'm willing to make a trade, Frank. Mind if I call you Frank? No? Good. Now we both know what you want. So let me tell you what I want, Frank. I want Lincoln Burrows exonerated. I want him released from Fox River Pen. And I want it done yesterday."

The Governor was speechless for a moment but then found his voice, "I'll do whatever I can to help you, but…"

The voice cut him off. "No buts, Frank. Do I need to tell you what I will do to your daughter if you don't comply with my demands?"

Frank swallowed hard, his fear for Sara lodging in his throat. "No…I'll…I'll do it, I'll do whatever you want, just please, please don't hurt my daughter."

"Good. Now listen closely Frank. You will not go to the police. You will not tell anyone that we have spoken. Do you understand?"

Frank nodded, "Ah, yes I, ah... I understand."

"Good, you'll hear from me soon."

"Wait! Just let me speak with my daughter, please!" But he knew the caller was gone, he had heard the click disconnecting the call.

Frank moved on unsteady legs to the bed and sat down. And then hesitating only briefly, he began to dial the phone he still held clutched in his hand.

XXXXX

The room was dark and so quiet. Sara was no longer sure how much time had passed. She had originally thought it must have been hours since she left Kirsty's party, but now she wasn't so sure. Her eyes moved to the small chip in the painted window that was the only light source.

Was that daylight slipping through; or street lights? She thought maybe it was artificial light, but the chip was so small. She tried to move a little to stretch the stiffness out of her limbs, but it was difficult with her hands taped behind her back. She winced as she flexed her fingers, her whole body aching with every movement.

She felt the need to urinate growing as she sifted her weight onto her bladder. She knew she had to think of something else or soon it would be all she could think of.

She licked her lips again and made herself go over the conversation she had over heard one more time. She knew there were at least two of them, maybe more. The hooded one and the one named Paul. She didn't like to think about the fact that the one with the hood didn't seem to mind naming the man on the phone. Maybe it had just slipped out in anger? He had certainly seemed angry. Or maybe it wasn't his real name… And it was just a first name.. It wasn't like he had said the man's full name.

She took a deep breath and made herself relax; this wasn't helping anything. She knew what she had to do; she had to do as Hoodie man asked. She had to help him in any way she could. Had he called her father yet? Had he made his demands? Her father had money, power too…

God, it was so quiet! She remembered Hoodie man's last comment, him saying she needn't bother screaming because the room was soundproofed. She knew he must be telling the truth, because never had there been such a deep silence as this.

She felt a tear slide down the side of her face and leaned into the mattress letting the thin sheet take it. She closed her eyes and tried to shut off her mind, but things slipped in, things like who would miss her, who would even notice that she was gone? She could easily count on one hand those she thought of as true friends. There were colleagues too, of course. They might be the first to notice her absence. They would be concerned when she didn't show up for her next shift at the hospital, wouldn't they?

She was losing herself to despair and she knew it. She had to stop this; she had to concentrate on getting out of this alive. Her head jerked to the door as the silence was broken by the sound of a key being inserted into the key hole. She watched as it opened and then light hit her dilating pupils.

He was back.

Her eyes adjusted and the man moved into the room. But it wasn't Hoodie man it was another man. Paul? Sara squinted at him and took in his features. He looked familiar. And then she had it. She knew where she had seen him before, Kirsty's party. Oh God, please don't let him have hurt Kirsty!

"Sara, right?" He asked the obvious, a smirk on his face.

Sara watched as he shut the door and moved further into the room. He moved to the chair and sat down in front of her.

"So you like to party, Sara? I mean you were at a party tonight. I saw you looking at me, by the way."

"You didn't hurt her, did you? Kirsty?"

He looked at her for a beat, the smirk never leaving his face. "Now why would I do that, Sara? Granted, she did piss me off. I mean I was all set to follow you and then there she was right in the way…But she does know how to throw a great party, I'll give her that."

Sara sighed inwardly in relief, but it was short lived. She felt a shiver as the man's eyes moved over her body, touching her in a vile way without raising a finger. And then he was touching her.

She recoiled as his fingers moved over her hip and up onto the buttons of her blouse. She didn't breathe as first one button fell away and then another, exposing her to the cool air and his fevered stare. She squeezed her eyes closed as his skin met hers…

"Get away from her Paul. Just leave her alone." Sara opened her eyes in relief as Paul's fingers fell away.

He was back…Hoodie man.

"Relax, Michael, I was just fooling around. You have to admit she is pretty hot…for a doctor."

Hoodie man; Michael ignored this. He held a bottle of water in his hand and Sara realized she was staring at it. God, she was so thirsty!

She watched as he unscrewed the cap and took a sip. "Please… Can I have some water…please?"

Michael glanced down at his hand and then moved towards her. He put his hand around her head to steady her and then brought the bottle to her lips. She gulped some of it down gratefully, the cold liquid soothing her dry throat. And then he dropped her head back to the cot and moved away.

"I made the call."

Her eyes went to the side of his face. He was looking at Paul.

"And?" Paul glanced her way.

"And, he has agreed to our demands of course." Michael said simply.

After a beat, "Come on let's go downstairs and have a beer…That way we can speak more freely."

Paul grinned, "A celebratory beer, Mike? Now you're talking."

Sara watched in silence as Michael clicked off the light and followed Paul out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

"Tell me Lincoln Burrows is on his way out of that prison, Governor." The voice was the same, the eerie mechanical, coldness of a machine sending a chill through Frank Tancredi with every word.

He glanced to the agent standing beside him for reassurance. At his nod Frank voiced his practiced response. "I'm willing to meet your demands, but these things take time…I'm sure you know that. Lincoln Burrows was found guilty…the evidence was there…his finger prints were on the murder weapon, his DNA…exonerating him of a crime he…"

The voice cut him off, "I don't care, Frank. I don't care how you do it. Exonerate him, pardon him…A technicality works for me. Just so long as he walks. Tell me you understand this Frank."

"I…I understand." He glanced to the paper the agent was holding up, reading it quickly. "Uh, I want to speak with her. I need to speak with my daughter...I won't proceed any further without Sara's assurance that she is okay, that you haven't harmed her."

The silence scared him, his heart pounding faster with each tick of the clock. Had he just made a mistake? Had this demand been too much?

"I'll be in touch." The phone line was suddenly devoid of any sound. Frank dropped his arm down by his side and looked to the agent beside him. "He's gone. Now what do we do?"

The agent turned to the man beside him who was busily typing on a laptop. The man looked up and shook his head. "I'm afraid the signal was encrypted, Sir."

Special Agent Mahone turned to Frank, his jaw tight. "We wait for him to call back."

As Mahone walked away, Frank looked around his office at the federal agents milling around. He had done the right thing, calling them in, he knew this. Still he couldn't help but worry his actions of the last few hours had already signed his daughter's death warrant.

XXXXX

Sara came awake instantly; unsure what had even awakened her as the room was completely silent.

She was having a hard time gauging the passage of time. She knew she had slept, but maybe only minutes had passed and not the hours her mind and body insisted upon.

After they left the room she had laid there for the longest time before sleep finally claimed her. In that time her mind had moved passed the horrors that could have transpired if he hadn't returned when he did. Michael. As much as his cold demeanor frightened her, the other one; Paul, frightened her more.

He had touched her...

She shuddered now as she felt his phantom fingers crawling over her skin. He would rape her if given the chance; of this she had no doubt…she had seen it in his eyes…

She pushed the thought from her mind as best she could and tried once again to assess the time.

She licked her dry lips and let her eyes travel to the window. The light slipping in through the tiny chip looked the same, didn't it? She let her eyes move over the room, everything was as it had been, the darkness blanketing the meager furnishings in her cell. And that was what this room was; a cell. This was her prison. She was alone in this prison but for the fear that never left her, her constant companion.

She moved onto her side, the ache in her limbs reminding her of the grimness of the situation, the hopelessness, as if she needed a reminder. And of course there was the ever present ache in her bladder; was that what had awakened her?

The ache was more intense now, more demanding, but she vowed not to give in to her bodily functions, she couldn't; it would anger them to come back only to find her in her own mess.

And there she was back to them again, the two men; her captors. Michael who seemed to be in charge had told Paul to leave her alone…he had even given her a drink of water. He was the one she had to get through to; she had to work on gaining his trust...

She remembered his confidence that her father was going to meet their demands. But if this was so, then why was she still here? Had they gotten their money and simply left her to die? Was that why they seemed to have little or no concern for her having seen their faces, learned their names?

But surely enough time couldn't have passed for her ransom to have been met? Didn't these things take time? Sara was almost certain it was money they were after. Her father had money, but did he have enough?

Her heart was pounding with the questions that flew haphazardly through her head, questions she couldn't possibly find the answers to. She tried to clear her mind, to push everything out by taking deep, even breaths.

A few moments passed. She lay in the heavy silence of the room, its dark weight crushing in on her, making her ears ring with each uncountable second.

She felt the seconds continue to tick away and then unable to stand it a moment longer, the never ending beat of silence, a small voice came croaking from her dry lips.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass…"

Her voice broke as the lyrics spilled forth, the song, one she had heard so long ago, drifting away on the still air. She squeezed her eyes closed as the memories of her mother filled her eyes with tears, filled her heart with an ache intense enough to distract from any physical discomfort she might be feeling. Her mother had sung this song to her when she was a little girl. Her mother…She missed her so much.

Sara felt a sob building in her chest and then it was cresting. She took in a deep lungful of air and buried her face in the mattress as the racking waves hit her.

"Mommy," she whispered; the whimper filling her ears, that of a little girl calling for a mother long lost, but never forgotten. She pulled her knees close, as close to her chest as she could get them, the tape at her ankles hindering her movement. She was seeking comfort, but there was none to be found, only pain as the tape bit into her sore wrists and ankles. She lay like this for some time... lost.

And then taking a deep breath, she forced herself to push the memories of her mother aside, memories she wanted to clutch onto, to hide behind. But she knew her mother would want her to remain strong; to do what she had to do to get out of this alive.

She took another deep gulp of air through determined lips. Her nose was now clogged with tears and mucus and each breath taken was by mouth. She concentrated on breathing, each breath in a struggle against the despair; each exhalation pushing out the fear that was fighting to consume her…But she was winning…this time.

Sara wasn't sure how much time had passed, but her eyes were dry, her face no longer wet with tears when the sound of a key in the lock alerted her much calmer mind to the fact she was no longer alone. She squinted, her eyes barely open in preparation of the unyielding light, and then it was rushing into the room, following closely the heels of her abductors.

The two men moved into the room without a glance in her direction. They were talking quietly and Sara strained to hear them to no avail.

And then he did look at her. "Sit up."

"I…Um…" She was moving to comply when he strode quickly across the room, and wrapped his fingers around her shoulders hoisting her up. "I said sit up." His eyes were so cold so demanding.

"I'm…I'm sorry." She apologized.

She was perched on the edge of the cot, her tethered feet on the floor in front of her. She felt the tingle of the pins and needles sensations starting in her feet as the blood rushed through her limbs. She wiggled her toes hoping to speed up the process. She would have to stand soon if she were to use the bathroom. And they would have to let her use it soon.

He was pulling his cell phone out of his pocket when she forced the words out. "I need to um…Could I please use the bathroom…Please?"

His cold blue eyes moved to her face and she looked away.

"It's been a while." She looked back up at him. "Please?"

"I'll take her."

Sara's head whipped to Paul, the smirk on his face making her heart race with fear. She was about to say she had changed her mind, she would hold it, when Michael spoke from in front of her. "No, I'll take her. Grab the tape and blindfold from the drawer over there."

As Paul moved to the dresser, Michael pulled a knife from his back pocket and flipped it open. Her heart raced faster, Blindfold, tape? All the while her eyes were riveted on the shiny blade in front of her. And then he bent down in front of her. She watched the top of his head as he sawed the tape at her ankles. When her legs were free he stepped back from her.

"Try to stand up."

She stretched her legs out and winced at the stiffness. And then afraid to make him wait any longer she moved to stand. She felt the cold numbness move over her feet, but her legs held her.

Standing next to him she could gauge his height at around 6'1 maybe a little less. She mentally filed this away as Paul approached, his slightly taller frame coming to stand beside Michael. He was maybe 6'2? She knew these details would be important if…no when, she was released, but she was surprised she was able to think so clearly with them so near.

"Could you please cut my hands free?" She kept her gaze at his left shoulder.

"No. I don't think so Doc. In fact I'm going to have to gag you again. No soundproofing outside these walls, and we can't have you screaming, now can we?"

He ripped off a piece of tape and moved closer.

"I swear I won't scream, please?" She pleaded. For some reason the thought of the tape against her lips bothered her more than the knife in his hand.

He paused for a moment and met her coppery eyes as if assessing her.

"Sorry," he grinned coolly and smoothed the tape over her lips.

Paul laughed beside him, and shook his head. "You're such a cold bastard, Michael."

Michael stepped away, his eyes betraying nothing. And then Paul was moving towards her.

She took a deep breath as his eyes met hers. Sara looked away quickly not wanting to see what she knew was there, but it was too late. Where Michael's eyes were cold, Paul's eyes radiated a deep blue heat, a dangerous heat filled with an unspoken threat.

She shuddered as his fingers grazed her cheek. And then he stepped around her.

She felt his hot breath against her neck as his body brushed against hers, and then the blindfold he tied around her eyes blocked out everything.

"Move."

Sara jumped at the nearness of his voice and then his fingers gripped her arms pushing her forward.

She could see nothing in front of her, but after a few steps she felt the slight temperature change alerting her that she was no longer in the same room, but presumably out in the hall.

Her heart was pounding faster with each step as he led her along, his fingers biting deeper into her flesh as if he were afraid she might try to make a blind run for it. She truthfully hadn't even thought about escape, her mind was filled with how she could possibly do as he asked; use the facilities with her hands taped behind her back.

She heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening and then she was ushered into the room. He led her a few steps inside and then turned her around. They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound to her ears that of her pulse beating loudly. And then she felt his hands on the button of her jeans. She froze, her last breath caught somewhere between her throat and her lungs as he worked the zipper and shoved her jeans down to her knees.

She let out her breath and squeezed her useless eyes closed. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, her fear having frozen all thought. She jumped, the backs of her legs meeting cold porcelain as his fingers suddenly raked down her underwear.

And then his hands clamped down on her shoulders. "Sit down, Sara."

His fingers left her as soon as she was seated, the cold toilet seat making her shiver despite the heat of humiliation blooming across her cheeks. Seconds ticked by but the need to urinate had left her. How could she do this with him watching her? Still she knew what was expected of her; what he expected. She squeezed her eyes closed, but she could feel his watchful eyes upon her.

"Do it, Sara." His demand made her jump as it broke through the heavy silence of the room.

She fought back the tears that were threatening and tried to do as he asked. If he would only give her a moment of privacy, just a few minutes alone she knew she could do it. And then it was as if he had read her thoughts.

"I'm going to step out into the hall, Sara. You have one minute."

She heard the door close and the sob that was building rushed out of her. She struggled for control and then forced herself to do it.

A grateful sob left her as the sound of her bladder emptying filled her ears.

A moment later she heard the door opening again. "Times up, Sara."

She felt his fingers on her arms pulling her to a standing position, humiliation filling her yet again as she felt the small dribbles of urine roll down her thighs. And then he was yanking her underwear back up, her jeans soon to follow. She felt his fingers work the zipper and button and then his hand clamped down on her arm again. "Let's go."

She was almost out the door when he yanked her back, his body close, the door frame pushing her arms tight against her back.

She winced as his hot breath hit her face. "We have a phone call to make, Sara. It seems Daddy dearest wants to know how you're doing. Don't try anything stupid. No signals, no mention of names…Just tell him your fine, do you understand?"

She nodded but he continued anyways. "My friend Paul, he's sure you're going to fuck this up Sara…Me? I have faith in you. I think you want to live."

That said, he shoved her out the door and into the hall. And then they were moving.

XXXXX

"Everything come out okay?" Despite the blindfold Sara could picture the smirk in Paul's voice.

"Shut up, Paul." Michael spoke with an edge to his voice.

Sara felt fingers at the back of her head, tangling through her hair, and then the blindfold fell away to reveal the anger in Paul's eyes.

She watched as Michael made his way across the room to toss the blindfold back into the drawer, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Paul was shooting, his deadly eyes equipped with sniper precision and accuracy.

Paul watched him for a moment and then his gaze moved back to Sara, smirk in place. "So, how's it feel to be locked up, Sara? You know some people hate to be locked up…Don't they Mikey?"

Sara noticed the immediate change in Michael's stance.

"I said shut up, Paul."

Ignoring the obvious warning in Michael's voice, Paul continued, "Of course this room is bigger then a cell…bigger then a closet, wouldn't you say Mike?"

Sara jumped out of the way as Michael plowed into him, the two men banging into the closed door with force. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" He spat, his face showing his rage, his eyes white hot.

Eyes widening at this show, Sara quickly moved back to the bed, the two of them never leaving her line of sight. She watched, heart pounding, as they stared each other down, blue fire pitted against blue steel in a duel of wills.

A few moments passed and Paul held up his hands, the smirk coming back full force despite his show of surrender. "I was only joking Mike."

This next was said quietly, the smirk falling away…"Really. You know I would never…"

Michael was breathing hard in his struggle for control, and then he was hauling Paul away from the door by his shirt.

Sara watched as Michael shoved Paul aside and pulled the door open, only to slam it shut behind him...


	4. Chapter 4

Paul was facing away from her, his eyes on the door. He stood for a moment as if in silent thought, and then turned to catch her eyes, smirk solidly in place.

Sara looked away and down at her feet, wishing him away with all of her being, but he wasn't moving. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her mind a whirl with all he could do to her, every violation she could fathom, her time in the ER having shown her the many horrors a man could inflict upon a woman.

Please Michael, come back! Her mind screamed a silent prayer as Paul approached, his footsteps the only sound but for her own frantic pulse in her ears. He stopped in front of her and knelt down. When she wouldn't look at him he reached and forced her eyes level with his own, his fingers on her face sending a shudder of revulsion through her.

"I wish we had time right now Sara, I really do. But you know there's always tomorrow…And I will make time." He smiled, his eyes twinkling darkly.

He let go of her face, and then leaving her with his dark promise he strode to the door, shutting and locking it behind him.

Air rushed out of her nostrils in relief, and she closed her eyes fighting against the tears that threatened. She opened them slowly as the realization hit her; they had left without binding her legs.

Her eyes shot to the door, and then she was standing. She made her way quickly to the window and went to her knees. The small chip wasn't much, but she was figuring maybe she could see something that would give her an idea as to her whereabouts.

Tossing the hair out of her eyes Sara leaned forward putting her eye up to the small peephole. She scanned the area taking in the trees and wooded area that surrounded the back of the house? She realized she wasn't sure where in the house her room was located, she wasn't even sure it was a house. She sighed in defeat and leaned her head against the cool window.

She sat there for a moment and then worrying she might not have time to make it back to the bed she leaned back from the window. Using the wall, she leaned into it to gain her feet her, her bound hands hindering her movements. Once standing she looked around the room, the four walls bare, but for the faint outlines where a framed picture had once hung…and the small outline of a crucifix, its lower case T shape drawing her eyes.

She stared at the symbol for a moment and said a silent prayer. That she was praying despite the fact she hadn't been in a church in years wasn't lost on her, and she made a silent promise to attend if she got out of this alive...When she got out of this alive.

She made her way to the small dresser and turning her body she stood on tip toes to wrap her fingers around the knob. She winced as the drawer slid open, the tape cutting into her wrists with the effort. Turning around quickly her eyes raked over the drawer's contents. But for the tape and blindfold the drawer was empty.

She sighed and shoved it closed with her body. She looked to the bed and then began to pace the silent room, her thoughts finally going over what had transpired between her two captors. What had Paul said that had gotten Michael so angry? Something about being locked up. Why would being locked up bother Michael? Had he once been in jail…prison? Paul had compared this room to a cell… But he had also compared it to a closet. Was Michael the victim of abuse? Was he locked in a closet as a child? Whatever it was, maybe she could use it to her advantage, maybe gain his sympathy? But he seemed so cold…God this was hopeless!

She heard the key in the lock and rushed back to the bed; her behind barely making contact with the thin mattress before Michael entered the room with Paul on his heels.

XXXXX

Sara felt his eyes on her and looked up, her coppery eyes meeting cool blue for a brief moment before moving to the small scar above his top lip. And then his eyes moved to her feet.

"You left her untied?" He shot this at Paul, and then not waiting for a response Michael moved to the drawer and yanked it open roughly. He grabbed the tape and shoved it closed. A few beats later he was kneeling in front of her wrapping her legs with the silvery binding.

As he worked Paul was silent behind him. Once satisfied her legs were secure he stood to remove the tape from her lips. She closed her eyes waiting for the sting and then his fingers were working at the edges of the tape. She opened her eyes and looked up at him meeting his eyes. And then he was yanking the tape off, in one quick movement of his wrist. Sara winced as tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn't look away. She saw something flit through his eyes, like the ghost of a memory and then he was breaking eye contact, his hand shoveling down into his pocket to fish out his phone.

"Okay, I'm ready for the headset." He turned to Paul and held out his hand.

Her eyes took in the small headset Paul held in his hand. Paul handed it over in exchange for the phone and Sara watched as Michael put it on and made some adjustments. He brought the small microphone to his lips. "You gotta love technology." His words came out in a mechanical tone, sending a chill through Sara, but disguising his voice perfectly.

Paul chuckled and handed him the phone. "Let's do this."

Michael nodded and flipped open the phone. His finger paused over the button and then he was looking at her, his eyes a frosty blue. "Don't do anything stupid Sara. Just tell him you're okay, understand?"

She nodded. "Okay…I understand."

He looked down at the phone and then pushed a button and brought it to his ear.

A moment later, "You're daughter, Governor." He stuck the phone next to her ear.

"Sara, are you there? Sara?" Her father's worried voice flew through the tiny speaker.

"Dad…I'm here…Dad I'm okay…They haven't hurt me."

Her eyes filled with tears at his next words. "I'm going to get you out there Sara…we're going to get you home… I promise you."

She swallowed hard, "I know you are, Dad. I…" The phone was yanked from her ear. Sara squeezed her eyes closed at the disconnection. But they shot open at Michael's next words.

"As you have just heard your daughter is alive and well, Governor. Now let's you and I have a little chat, shall we? You have eight hours to comply with my demands or…well Sara won't be so healthy. Do I make myself clear, Frank?"

His words chilling her Sara looked away. Paul was grinning silently beside Michael. When he noticed her eyes on him his grin widened. Sara forced her eyes back to Michael.

She saw his eyes hardened as he listened to her father's response and then, "Listen closely Governor; you aren't calling the shots here. You'll get your daughter back when Lincoln Burrows contacts me. And he will only do so when he is safely out of this country. Tell me this works for you Frank."

Sara watched wide eyed, her mind spinning as Michael silently listened to her father's response. Lincoln Burrows? What did Lincoln Burrows have to do with this?

"Good to hear Frank. I'll be in touch." He flipped the phone closed and ripped the headset from his ear. Turning to Paul, "We're on. This will all be over soon."

Paul grinned and then his eyes snaked over to Sara. "Now this is where things begin to get interesting."

XXXXX

With a click of the key in the lock Sara was alone again with her thoughts. Eight hours for her father to meet their demands and then how long before Burrows was out of the country?

She closed her eyes against the darkness her mind whirling. Lincoln Burrows. All this time she had thought this was about money.

Lincoln Burrows… The name sounded familiar. And suddenly she knew why. She had read about him. He was in prison…on death row. She felt a chill invade her as it all began to make a twisted kind of sense.

She pushed herself to remember the details from the articles she had read over her Sunday breakfast of toast and coffee. Ignoring the rumble in her stomach at the thought of food she pushed harder. And then it all came back to her. Lincoln Burrows had killed four men, one of them being alleged mob king pin John Abruzzi.

She let her breath out. So this was about saving Lincoln Burrows from his death sentence? But who would go to such extremes to save an obviously guilty man? And if her memory served her, the evidence had been there. He was after all convicted on four counts of murder in the first degree. And then she knew the answer. Brothers…. They were brothers… The three of them were brothers. Her mind was racing. God, it all made sense! The way they spoke to each other…The goading.

She was ripped from her thoughts as the key hit metal. And then the bright light sent her eyes shut as the sound of footfalls filled the room.

Her heart pounded inside her chest as her eyes adjusted to the glare. She felt a moment of relief at the sight of Michael and then he was moving towards her.

He held a plate in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. "Sit up, Sara."

She struggled to sit and he placed the plate down beside her on the cot. Her eyes moved to the sandwich and her stomach growled loudly. She hadn't eaten dinner the night before. She had been too swamped at the hospital to find time.

"If you cut me free I…" She had been about to promise she would behave when he picked up the sandwich and brought it to her lips.

"Eat."

She met his gaze and took a bite. She chewed and swallowed, the white bread sticking to her dry mouth. She was eyeing the water as he moved to twist off the cap. He brought the bottle to her lips and she took a long swallow, a small amount dribbling down her chin and onto her shirt but she didn't care. The water was so good!

"More water…please?" He had been about to put the cap back on. He moved it to her lips and she took another swallow. "Thank you."

He picked up the sandwich again and brought it to her lips. She took a bite and chewed, this time the dry bread went down much easier…the bologna tasting better.

They sat quietly the only sounds those of her eating and drinking. When the sandwich was gone, she met his eyes, "Thank you… Michael."

He studied her for a moment and then without a word he got up and shut out the light. A moment later she heard the door close and the sound of the key locking her away filled the silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Alexander Mahone paced the area, his long legs using up the space quickly only to turn and traverse back to his starting point. Eight hours…well seven and a half now. And then they would be forced to let a convicted murderer out on the streets. This more then angered him despite the scum Lincoln Burrows had taken out to find himself in line for Old Sparky…John Abruzzi. Of course someone would only, probably already had, filled the crime lord's shoes…it was a never ending game…his mind sped.

They needed more time, but Governor Tancredi had already left to start the process that would ultimately sanction the release. If only there was some way to stall…he needed to think. He needed to find Lincoln Burrows' brothers. They were the prime suspects in the kidnapping as far as he was concerned. He found it highly suspicious that both Kellerman and Scofield were unable to be located at such an early hour. Besides who else would be willing to risk so much for so little?

"Sir… I think you should see this."

Mahone's head jerked up from his thoughts and endless pacing to meet the eyes of one of the agents assigned to the case, his name momentarily forgotten.

At the look of urgency on the young agent's face he brushed passed him and into the office where they had set up shop. Mahone made his way with purpose to the group of agents standing in front of the television they had set up to monitor the media's coverage, or as the case may be lack of coverage on the kidnapping.

They had managed to keep it quiet thus far, but as the newscaster spoke Mahone realized the cat was out of the bag.

"An unknown source has brought to light, the kidnapping of Governor Frank Tancredi's daughter, Dr. Sara Tancredi…her whereabouts are as of yet unknown."

"Sir?"

Mahone ignored the young agent his eyes and mind riveted to the screen. "The ransom apparently not money as most would expect, but the release of convicted murderer Lincoln Burrows…Burrows is on death row at Fox River state Penitentiary..."

Mahone turned to the agent. "How did this get out?"

"Sir?"

His blood boiling now, "How. Did. This. Get. Out?"

The agent took a step back. "We don't really know, Sir..."

"WELL FIND OUT!"

"Um, Ah…Yes Sir." The agent hurried away.

Mahone's jaw was clenched; his eyes intense as he listened to the newscaster repeat the breaking story.

This was not good…not good at all…

XXXXX

(7 hours remaining)

"Tell me I'm mistaken, Agent Mahone," The words rushed in on Governor Frank Tancredi's hurried footsteps. "Tell me I didn't just hear a broadcast stating the demands for my missing daughter."

Mahone turned to face him his eyes grim. "Governor I can assure you this leak will be handled and whoever is responsible will be held accountable to the fullest extent of the law…"

Frank was shaking his head his words falling from his lips in a fearful cadence. "He said he would kill her if I went to you people….he said tell no one…And now it's all over the radio…The television!"

Mahone was opening his mouth to speak when the contact phone began to ring. He fell silent for a beat, but as Frank rushed to answer it he grabbed his arm holding him in place. "Let me speak with him. It's time we moved this along."

Frank stared hard at him, but as Mahone moved to the phone he didn't stop him. He watched as the phone was brought up to the agent's ear.

"Hello," A simple greeting so out of place in this context of moments fell from his lips only to be met by silence. He was risking all or nothing by answering the call instead of having the Governor do the honors. Only time would tell which. But as he had said a moment before, it was time to take things up a notch.

Agent Mahone's eyes flinted over, and his jaw clench as he listened to the voice, one of mechanical coldness, fill his ear. "This isn't Frank. Who am I speaking with?"

"Agent Alexander Mahone, FBI. I'm a hostage negotiator, Michael…Or am I speaking with Paul?" Dead silence met his bluff and then, "Listen to me Agent Mahone and listen good, someone fucked up. Lincoln Burrows is a dead man if you don't move…Now."

"Lincoln Burrows is fine…" He began, but the sharp reply in his ear silenced him. "You don't get it do you? There are people who want Lincoln dead…they're just waiting. When they get word that he is going to walk, that he's not facing the chair, he won't have a chance…" A beat later, "Do I need to spell things out for you, Agent Mahone FBI? If Lincoln Burrows dies, Sara dies. You had better make sure that doesn't happen."

The click in his ear signaled that the call had ended and Mahone lowered the receiver from his ear. "We need to get in touch with the warden…Now."

XXXXX

He lowered the phone from his ear and flipped it closed, the orders just given flowing through his head like a welcoming embrace. He had been waiting for this for a while now, hoping for it. He shoved the phone into his locker and then took out the gym bag he kept there. Running the zipper along its track he shoved aside the loose articles of clothing until his fingers wrapped around cold steel.

He moved his hand along its length to find the taped handle, and then smiling coldly he brought the crude shank to his eyes for inspection. He turned it in his hand for a moment admiring its simplicity and then satisfied it would perform nicely he calmly shoved it into his pocket and out of sight.

Bradly Bellick then made a quick exit from the locker room. He knew exactly where his prey was, the showers. It was perfect too. Dead men walking got special showering privileges insuring that he would be alone. Grinning his way down the hall he began to whistle a tune, He always had appreciated the death march.

His grin widened in anticipation, he couldn't wait to finally sink the Sinc.

XXXXX

Mahone lowered the phone, his conversation with Warden Pope coming to an end. Pope had assured him that a guard would be sent to watch over Burrows until the two agents in transit arrived. As Mahone related this information to Governor Tancredi who stood quietly beside him he felt his anxiety increase. The warden's assurance should have lessened his anxiety he knew, but something about the urgency in the HT's voice had bled into him evoking a sense of foreboding he normally would have kept at bay.

He pushed it aside and moving away from the Governor's watchful eyes he walked to the large board at the back of the room. He let his eyes move over the photos tacked there, Michael Scofield and Paul Kellerman, the brothers.

After speaking with the HT he was now more certain then ever that one or maybe both were behind this…The slight pause when he voiced his bluff had been a dead giveaway.

He leaned forward to stare into the eyes of the eldest of the two brothers; Scofield. Everything about him screamed guilty in Alex's opinion. If he was a betting man and he really wasn't despite the risks he had taken here today, he would place his bet on Scofield being the master mind behind this.

His eyes took in the hardness of the blue steel orbs reflected in the glossy photo. "What are you thinking right now?" His voice was but a whisper.

He closed his eyes and tried to step inside the mind of the man pictured before him while he mentally sorted through the information they had on the three men. Scofield was a younger brother to Burrows sharing the same mother and dead beat father, while Kellerman was only a half sibling, a brother from another mother. He smirked at this thought and moved along…

In and out of foster homes after the death of mother Christina Scofield, the two eldest brothers had been separated on and off. Kellerman had been the luckiest of the trio; his mother hadn't offed herself when Aldo Burrows disappeared from her life. A habitual drug user and gambler, the senior Burrows was at this time believed to be deceased, but this information had yet to be confirmed.

So at what point had the three brothers found each other again?

They had found each other, this much he knew to be fact. He had written testimony, an ex-girlfriend of Burrows; Veronica Donovan had confirmed an existing relationship between the three brothers, stating that the closeness of Lincoln and Michael had seemed to bother Paul. She had shrugged her shoulders when asked to elaborate on that statement, saying it was more a vibe then anything tangible. Crackpot is what Mahone had thought at the time, what he still thought for that matter. But crackpot or no, if she was right about the close relationship between the two brothers then there was motive...

He sighed and opened his eyes. Now he had to deal with the Governor, who had yet to speak. He turned and made his way back to the silently brooding man. "He won't kill her Governor, trust me. He needs her to get what he wants."

Frank met his eyes, "And when he has what he wants, Agent Mahone? When he has what he wants what's to stop him from killing my daughter then?"

Mahone forced an answer from his suddenly dry mouth, "I'm going to get your daughter back, Governor, there's no question about that..."And then silently to himself, And when I do these men are going down.

XXXXX

He could hear the roar of the shower as he stepped within the condensation dripping walls. He could see the steam shooting into the cooler air around him, the splash of the water filling his ears like a magical tune.

He felt his heartbeat quicken as he envisioned the task at hand, the thrusting of the knife into willing flesh like that of coupling lovers speeding through him exciting him further.

He was calm despite his anticipation as he stepped closer, his shoes sliding along the wet tiles with seemingly little or no effort. This was the part of his job he loved. Not his job as CO Brad Bellick, but his job within the family. He had been only too happy when the phone call came in ordering this execution.

He moved closer, and then closer still until he could see tanned flesh beneath the jettisoning spray of water and thick steam. He took in the muscular back, the well toned abs, the livelihood of a dead man. He smirked at the thought. Fat lot of good all of that would do him where he was going. He would be pushing up daisies with those pipes soon enough.

He fought back a chuckle and stepped closer with Lincoln none the wiser. He was so close he could see the small imperfections on the man's skin, a freckle here, a blemish there. A single step later and he was so close he could reach out and touch him…

He smiled coldly as his fingers made their stealthy way inside his pocket to grasp the handle of the shank hidden within…

His grip tight, he unsheathed it and brought it out in front of him to hit the humid air. He studied the canvas before him minutely, and then with a jolt of exultation shooting through him, he extended his arm shoving and twisting the blade deeply into surrendering flesh.

He yanked it free as Lincoln was turning and then thrust the shank forward again, the buckling flesh shooting a spray of blood from Lincoln's side onto his hand. Brad stepped aside, heart beat roaring as Linc reached for him, his fingers barely grazing his arm in his weakening state.

Lincoln was moving towards him, but stopped after only a few steps. He stood in the steam clutching his oozing side as the water fell red around his feet and hurried to the drain.

Brad knew he should leave, get out while he could, but he couldn't pull his eyes away. He watched in fascination as Lincoln looked down to see his life blood leaving him, and then he was crashing to the tiles breaking the spell he held over his assailant.

Brad worked quickly then, his job of wiping the prints from the shank done with expert ease. He tossed it down with a clatter and then moved towards the hot spray rinsing the blood from his hands, any evidence of wrong doing joining the stream of blood making its way to the drain.

With a glance back to serve his twisted memory he left the steam of the shower room behind, a whistled tune falling from his smiling lips.

(HTHostage taker) 


	6. Chapter 6

(Bellick)

Predatory movements in the shadows were all but ignored as the prison's doctor tried to staunch the flow of blood from the stab wounds. Lincoln Burrows was bleeding out. Brad licked his bottom lip, his usually flat eyes gleaming. He was fairly certain his job here was done.

He turned away and stepped deeper into the shadows, the sounds of a defibrillator charging filling his ears. He grinned as the word "clear" echoed through the shower room and then he stepped out into the hallway.

He had a break coming soon and a Red Lobster gift card burning a hole in his wallet. What could be more perfect then Shrimp Scampi to celebrate his kill?

He grinned and ducked his head down as more feds moved passed him on their way presumably to the shower room. But neither paid him any notice, they both had government issue cell phones glued to their ears. He sneered as he passed them and made the turn that would take him to the locker room.

Yep, the way he saw it Lincoln Burrows didn't have a chance in hell of making it out of this prison, least not alive.

His grin grew wide as he made his way to his locker to grab his jacket.

"Red Lobster for the seafood lover in you." He crooned as he left the locker room, jacket in hand.

(Mahone)

"What can I do for you that will get you to move away from my desk, Agent?"

The young agent gulped audibly. "Um, Sir, the social worker, ah, Ms. Davis, is here? You had me call her in?"

Mahone's eyes fell away dismissively and back to the files on his desk. "Good, finally someone we were able to locate."

"Yes, she was home sleeping, Sir."

Mahone looked back up at him and blinked. His mouth opened to tell the agent to stop wasting his time and send the woman in, but the sudden chirping of his cell phone halted his instructions. He grabbed it up and flipped it open. "Mahone."

His eyes narrowed as the Agent in charge filled him in on the events at Fox River. "Sir, he's on his way to Chicago Hope, his condition is critical, but stable."

"Critical but stable…you are aware of what an oxymoron is, Agent Hale?"

"Sir?"

"Go with him. Stay with him. In fact I want you to pretend that he's your brother. I want you to pretend like your job depends on his safety. I want you to tell me if he so much as blinks…got that Agent?"

Hale was silent for a beat. "Yes, Sir, ah, Agent Mahone, Sir."

Mahone flipped his phone closed and held it to his forehead, and then closing his eyes he began taking in deep breaths to relax.

"Sir, do you still want me to send for Ms. Davis?"

Mahone opened his eyes and lowered the phone. He tightened his jaw, trying to control his voice. "Give me a few minutes, Agent, and then send her in. In the mean time, get the hell away from my desk!"

Mahone threw the pen he was squeezing across the room, his forced calm crumbling with each passing second. He pushed passed the young agent who stepped back in fear and then threw the door open. He needed to get some air and pull himself together before speaking to the social worker that had been assigned to Michael Scofield after his mother's death. Of course the way his luck was running she wouldn't even remember the boy, making this yet another waste of fucking time.

He punched the door open and stepped out into the parking area. He took a deep breath and then another trying to calm himself the way his therapist had taught him to do in times of high stress, and anger.

Deep breath in… Deep breath out…Deep breath in…Deep breath out.

He didn't want to go back on the drugs he had had such a tough time kicking, but at times like this he found himself wishing for his handy pen, a druggie's Pez dispenser. He sighed and closed his eyes the early morning air feeling good against his flushed face.

He took another deep breath and then headed back inside to speak with the one woman who may or may not be his only insight into the mind of his main suspect.

XXXXX

"Have a seat, please," Mahone motioned to the chair across from him. The petite woman standing before him was younger looking then he had expected. She looked to be in her mid to upper forties, while in reality he knew her to be well into her fifties. He also knew she had never married, that she had resided in the Chicago area for the last thirty odd years, twenty five of those having been spent devoted to her current field of employment, social work for the state of Illinois, The Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS) to be exact.

She pushed the dark hair away from her worried brown eyes, worry no doubt at having been pulled from her bed to assist in such an urgent matter. She smiled softly and then she complied, her small frame landing gracefully in the seat across from him without so much as a sound. She placed her hand bag on the floor at her feet and then met his eyes.

"Thank you for coming Ms. Davis. I know it's quite early. I believe you know a little of why you're here?"

She nodded. "Yes, Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows."

"Then you remember him, Scofield?"

She nodded again. "How could I forget Michael?"

His steady gaze never left her. "Why don't you tell me what you remember about him, Ms. Davis?"

"Okay." She cleared her throat a little and then she began to speak. "Michael and his brother Lincoln became wards of the state after their mother's death, suicide, I believe…It was tragic…There was no father present…he wasn't in their lives at all as I recall."

Mahone nodded indicating she should go on.

"I tried to keep them together, the brothers, but we were so…there were so many children and there just weren't enough homes to place them all in. Not many wanted to take on two foster children at once. Lincoln was placed first. I remember because of Michael's reaction. I remember how sad Michael was when his brother left the state home. The whole situation was sad, Agent Mahone, but somehow losing his brother amplified Michael's grief, the grief of losing his mother." She explained.

"Shortly there after he began to act out, Michael, fighting with the other children, refusing to eat at times." She cleared her throat again. "Do you think I could I have some water, please?"

Mahone nodded and reached into the desk drawer at his side. He unscrewed the cap and passed the bottle to her. "Sorry if it's a little on the warm side."

She smiled, "Its fine, thank you." She took a sip and then set it on the desk in front of her. "Where was I? Oh, right. Michael was acting out and it was understandable considering the upheaval in his life. I began to work harder at placing him."

Her eyes took on a hurt look, one of ancient regret. "I placed him with them." Her voice was lower, as if ashamed. "I let them have him. They checked out, no prior foster children, but nothing to indicate…" She reached a shaky hand to the bottle of water and took another sip before continuing. "I was doing a routine check up. I had been to several houses that day, and Michael was last on my list, his new home being somewhat close…to my own, it was on my way home. I say his new home, but he had been there a few months at this point. A few months…" She trailed off and took a deep breath.

"Take your time, Ms. Davis."

She nodded. "Thank you. She was silent for a moment and then, "Um, I…What I found at that house that day…was…" Her voice broke. "I'm sorry, even after all this time…I find this difficult."

Mahone nodded, his eyes never leaving her. He had no doubt that this was difficult for her. The evidence of her pain, even after all of these years, was plainly etched across her face.

Her hands were in front of her and she placed them prayer like against her chin before continuing.

"When I got to the home, I found the door slightly ajar, it wasn't locked. I knocked of course, and called out to no answer. I was this close to leaving, Agent, figuring I could return the next day. But then I heard him. I heard something. At the time I thought it was him, but later I wasn't so sure. I still don't know."

She paused for a moment as if gathering the strength to go on and then, "I um, I went into the apartment then. And I… I had only gone a few feet when the smell hit me. It was bad, the smell of feces and urine…At that point I knew something was wrong of course. And I began calling out quietly; trying to keep the calm I knew I needed for Michael. I found him, Agent. I found this beautiful eight year old…I pried the door open myself. I couldn't leave him there to wait for help…I couldn't… I looked around and I found a tool box. I took the hinges off the door." Her small hand moved to her mouth covering it. "He was curled up in the corner of the closet… the smell while quite bad throughout the house was beyond anything I have ever…Agent he was…he had defecated and…and there was evidence that he had been there for some time."

XXXXX

"Agent Brigham, could you please see Ms. Davis out?" He smiled gratefully to the woman and then the young agent was showing her to the door.

He made his way back to the desk, his mind playing through everything Nancy Davis had told him; the closet, the abuse. She had gone on to tell him the boy's physical state, how he was covered in bruises and small cuts, some of which were infected. How the boy had been uncommunicative, a lost boy as she had called him, referring to the weeks he had spent unresponsive to the doctors treating him.

The Lost boy; his prime suspect.

He stood silently in front of his desk, lost for a moment himself.

He was trying not to think of his son Cameron and what he would do if someone was to ever do such a thing to his boy, what he would do to the unlucky individual if he ever got his hands on them was more like it. He had a nice empty plot under his birdbath reserved for anyone who even tried to fuck with his family.

He shook himself out of his funk, reminding himself he was dealing with a cunning adult here, not some abused child. Everyone was fucked up in one way or another at some point in their lives. The fact that this case was over twenty years in the making was nothing new. He had dealt with enough lowlifes in his career to know that.

And the abuse was only the beginning, there had been more. There was more to Michael scofield then a battered child that was for sure.

His mind sped through the details fed to him only moments before, the many foster homes Scofield had been placed in, these same homes tossing him out.

One home in particular had captured his attention.  
Scofield had taken a baseball bat to a foster father after witnessing the man beating and raping his foster mother. No charges were pressed, but it had landed him back in a state home, a home that had to take special care to not lock away the now claustrophobic fourteen year old boy. The fourteen year old who had exhibited signs of Post traumatic stress disorder on many occasions.

According to Nancy Davis, Lincoln had tried to gain custody of his younger brother upon reaching legal age, but nothing had come of it. Nothing had come of it because Burrows had been incarcerated shortly after petitioning the court. Stupid, fucking reject couldn't even stay out of trouble long enough to take care of his own.

He pushed back his chair now and sat down. His mind while overcrowded with data, was busy. Leaning back he closed his eyes, a long fingered hand coming up to his temple as he attempted to sort through, prioritize the information, what was important, what was trivial. He had a feeling nothing was trivial where Michael Scofield was concerned.

Yes there was more to Scofield than met the eye. And now that he had had a glimpse inside the mind of this 'Lost boy' he was more then certain if given enough time he would find him. 

(Mike, Sara and Paul will be in the next chapter. I had to set up some back ground info.) 


	7. Chapter 7

The sound though small, was enough to awaken her. Maybe because it was a break in the still silence, or maybe it was a survival instinct we all possess? Sara didn't have time to ponder this as her heart responded in her chest with a gallop at the intrusion upon her sleep.

She held her breath as the door glided open on well oiled hinges. The dark shadow of a man, and she knew it to be a man, would know it blindly, filled the doorway and sent her bound body rigid with fear. Which of her abductors was it, Michael or Paul? She knew the answer to this, she knew, but wanted to be wrong, she needed so desperately to be wrong.

She knew she needed to act, to yell out, to scream for Michael, but she was frozen, her lips unmoving, but for a little gasp of air to feed her oxygen starved lungs. She had unknowingly held her breath upon awakening, not a breath taken as the man stood watching her from his post in the open doorway.

He stood for a beat longer and then he was moving forward shoving the door closed, the key in the lock signaling her brain, telling her things she did not want to know, telling her that this was definitely Paul, and that tomorrow had come early.

His promise resonated through her head, the echo of his words, that he would make time for her, sending her heart speeding faster in fear, in trepidation. He was going to…She gasped in air, her lungs burning. She had to breathe, damn it! She had to stay calm!

She took a deep breath, and wiggled her helpless limbs in hopes the tape would magically fall away leaving her free to fight, but her bindings held strong.

"I know you're awake, Sara, I can smell your fear; I can hear it in your breath."

His words were followed by light as he flipped it on blinding her, sending her eyes clamping shut against her will, only to be pried open as she forced them to adjust.

One moment he was by the door, the next he was moving towards her, closer, his steady pace bringing him just in front of her where he stopped and looked down at her like she was an animal, a plaything for his amusement.

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him, echoing her words. "Please, don't do this, Paul. You don't want to do this."

He laughed then, a sound that would haunt her dreams, her nightmares, if she lived to dream, to sleep. He was still studying her, his blue eyes moving over her body like scaly fingers, raping over her, leaving her feeling unclean in their passing. She couldn't let him touch her, she couldn't bare it if he touched her, but how could she fight him like this?

"Listen, if you want this…If…if you want me…if you'll just...just untie me...I'll do what...whatever you want…I won't fight you."

His smile grew and he cocked his head to the side in amusement. "Oh, but you don't get it Doctor, I want you to fight me. I like it rough…I wanna know you're alive when I fuck you…I bet you have a lot of fight left in you, don't you, Sara?"

She shuddered at his words, her eyes drawn to his hand as it moved to his pocket.

He pulled out a pocket knife and flipped it open, a smirk hitting his lips at her obvious fascination. A beat later he was leaning down slicing through the thick tape at her ankles.

"There we go...almost done."

Before she could move he shoved her onto her chest and a quick slice with the knife later she was free, both hands and feet. She brought her arms to her sides afraid to move with the knife at her back, but afraid to remain so vulnerable.

She was easing up slowly when his shoved knee in her back forced her back down knocking the air from her lungs.

She gulped in air managing to turn her head in time to see the knife going closed; being shoved deeply within his pocket.

He was easing back from her as he spoke, "Turn around Sara."

Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breath coming faster as she moved to a sitting position. Her fear was a tangible thing now, its face that of the smirking man in front of her.

She had to stop him, she couldn't let him do this to her. He wanted her to fight, he had said so himself. He got off on it. Maybe if she didn't give him what he wanted he would lose interest? Maybe he would go away? This wasn't likely and she knew it, but it was all she had.

"I won't fight you. I won't give you the satisfaction." She held her head high meeting his eyes as she spoke.

He moved towards her, his sudden movement making her flinch but she held her ground. "You won't fight me? Huh?" He leered in her face, his spittle flecking her porcelain features. "You don't wanna live Sara, is that it?"

She took a deep breath, fighting back her fear as she called his bluff. "You won't kill me, not yet. You still need me, Paul. Lincoln needs me."

He stared at her for a moment and then the laugh, the one that chilled her so came from his smirking lips. "Oh, Sara," He was shaking his head, his words taunting now. "You really are clueless aren't you? There are worse things then death pretty lady, far worse." His stinging slap sent her head back, and then the taste of blood flooded her mouth.

She moved then, her body dodging him as he lunged for her, his fingers scraping over the tender flesh of her arm, leaving red welts along her wrist as she jerked free. Despite what she had told him, she intended to fight for all she was worth.

He grabbed at her again and she shoved at him this time striking him hard along the side of the head. But it didn't slow him down; he was back at her in an instant. He grabbed her and shoved her hard, sending her crashing into the wall, stunning her as the hard plaster jarred her bones, her shoulders screaming in pain along with her whimpering lips. God, he was going to kill her!

She forced her body into motion as he came at her again, her hands shoving at him, but she was weakening and he was so strong; he was too quick, and there was nowhere to run that was far enough away from him.

His hands gripped her aching shoulders, and then he threw her towards the bed with a grunt. She landed hard, the coils beneath the cot hard on impact. Her breath coming faster, her heart in over drive; she shoved herself up against the wall behind her and wrapped her arms over her head for protection.

She was gasping in air, a fevered sweat along her slim frame, the taste of blood coppery in her mouth as time sped forward too fast, too soon, moving her closer to him, though her body lay immobile. He would come for her, she knew this and the fear that gripped her was winning, its hand an adrenaline infused vulture as it ate away at her will to fight.

And then he was ripping her arms away and pulling her down under him. His body was heavy as his full weight fell on her small frame, pushing the air from her lungs. She squeezed her eyes closed as his hand moved between them to tear at her shirt. The sound of buttons flying against the wall joined his heavy breathing, leaving her shirt hanging open, her only protection from his unwanted caress the thin material of her bra. He would go for her pants next. Yes, her jeans would go next and then…

She tried to shut him out, the grunts, his hot breath, her eyes so tight her lashes were quaking from the effort.

"Open your eyes, Sara." This demand was growled at her, the anger, the excitement in his voice making her skin crawl, her stomach turn to acid.

But she wouldn't look at him, no, he would have to make her. She tossed her head to the side in a last act of defiance, her hair falling over her face as the hot tears finally seeped out. His blow hit her unexpectedly, jarring her face and then he was gripping it, his fingers digging into the flesh of her cheeks. "Look. At. Me. Sara…Look at me!"

Her eyes shot open just as his body was ripped from her, the cool air against her scalding skin washing over her. She scampered back against the wall, curling her body up in a protective posture as her wide eyes took in the two men. It was Michael. He had come to help her.

"Michael wait, man it's not what you think, its not…" Paul's last words were knocked out of him as his back hit the wall, ironically the same plaster tearing a grunt from him that was bruised across Sara's shoulder blades.

Michael was on him again instantly, a twisted scene of déjà vu playing out. Sara watched as Michael hauled him away from the wall. Paul's fist came up to land against the side of his brother's face, but it didn't stop him. The anger in Michael's blue eyes only grew at the pain, and then his fingers were wrapping around Paul's throat.

"Don't you ever touch her! Don't you ever do it!" The spit was flying against Paul's reddening face, as he clutched at the noose of long fingers around his neck.

Sara watched; her body still in a fetal position as Michael, his fingers still around his brother's neck moved the two of them across the floor in a violent parody of dance only to slam him against the far wall. The slightly ajar door finally claiming her attention, her eyes grew wider, riveted to it.

And then the grunting and slapping drew her eyes away, back to her red faced assailant. He was now struggling for air, for his life. She hated him, oh, God how she hated him, but she couldn't sit here and watch this…She couldn't.

"Michael, stop, stop, you have to stop!" She was screaming, but part of her wanted Paul dead, needed him dead.

Michael turned to her then, and he must have let up his grip because the next she knew Paul was slamming into him sending him flying.

She screamed at what would come next, but it was far from what she had expected as Paul raced to the door and stumbled through it, slamming it shut behind him.

The sound of the key in the lock was drowned out by Michael as he lay panting on the floor at her feet. 

(Chapter End Notes: 

I hope to update again soon!) 


	8. Chapter 8

The hot tears coursed down her cheeks, her auburn hair clinging to it, plastered against her face, hiding her features. Now that he was gone, Sara wanted nothing more then to hide, to burrow down into the thin cot and lose herself but the panting man at her feet was moving now, coming to stand. She was not alone, there for in her mind she was not completely safe.

She backed away from him, her body pressing as far against the wall as she could manage. Though Michael didn't instill actual terror in her, had in fact saved her from Paul and she knew this, she still found his presence unnerving. She was locked in this small room with one of 'them'.

She gulped in a shaky breath, her coppery eyes never leaving him as he moved, his tall frame strung so tight as if it might break. He was far from calm, she could see the agitation in his stance; it was practically oozing from him, pouring off of him like a toxic sweat. He stood for a moment his back still to her. In fact he had yet to even look her way, and for this she was thankful. His sole focus seemed to be on the now closed door.

She hugged her body close, pulling her torn shirt tightly over her exposed flesh as his step quickened to the door. His hand shot out to twist at the knob frantically only to find it locked. Sara stared wide eyed as he searched his pockets, his fingers fumbling in his growing haste. He was searching presumably for his keys, but she knew he wouldn't find them, she had seen them dangling from the lock when Paul made his escape.

Escape, she could have escaped while they were fighting, she could have run and never looked back, but she had been frozen much like she was frozen now, her eyes locked on his back as he continued his search, his pockets emptying as change peppered the floor to roll about unhindered.

She could see his agitation growing, his panic quickening as he realized he was locked in. He turned then, his eyes a smoldering mix of blue and green. He still didn't look at her and she had only a moment to think what he would do next. She jumped and then cringed at the sound of his sudden voice, so close, so loud as he turned and slammed back into the door with force. "Paul, open the door! Open the Goddamn door!" He slammed his fist against it then, a hard blow; a jarring blow. A hand shooting out to twist at the knob, as the other battered at it as if it would give in to his bullying.

As Sara watched his fist slammed into it over and over, his voice screaming out for his brother to open the door, to let him out. That he would fucking kill him if he didn't let him out.

She watched as he rammed his body into it to no avail, his grunts of pain trying to push their way into her head to join the chorus she fought to contain, the sounds of her assailant, the sounds of Paul.  
She hugged herself tighter and kept them at bay, her eyes widening as he raged out of control.

And then as quickly as it started it was over. It was over and he was sinking to the floor, his arms coming up to wrap around himself, almost an echo of the postion she found herself in as she watched him from across the room.

XXXXX

She was afraid to move, afraid to draw attention to herself, lest he take his anger out on her next. Her eyes were drawn to the blood smeared door, the bright red mar on otherwise flawless white drawing her in, capturing her. She wasn't sure how long she had stared at it, not long to be sure, before she blinked, and then her eyes were moving over him taking in his beaten posture, his bloodied fist, the deep red dripping along his arm to disappear inside the sleeve of his shirt as his breath heaved in and out of him.

She lay completely still studying him, her eyes a depth of fear, confusion and pain as the aches in her battered body finally let themselves be known through the numbness. But the pain was nothing compared to what it could have been had Michael not shown up when he did. She couldn't think about that now, not now. Not without getting lost in it.

She reached a shaky hand and pushed back her hair, her hot face cooling almost instantly as the sticky mane fell away. Then moving slowly, quietly, so as not to draw his attention, she shifted her body a little, the stiffness making her bite back a moan. His head which was hanging low before her movements lifted slowly and her breath froze, a cold band of fear tightening in her chest.

He was looking straight ahead now, his eyes so blue, but still not on her. It was as if she were invisible to him. His breathing while less labored now still had not returned to normal and she could see him trembling. He was shaking as if he were chilled, though she could see that his body was covered in sweat.

She looked closer studying his features. His eyes were staring, but not seeing, and while she had little or no experience with this sort of thing, his words came back to her, his fear, the haste with which he had searched for the key, his way out of this locked room. Paul's words, which seemed so long ago, but really it wasn't so long ago at all…His taunts about being locked up…Prison cells and closets…Paul…Her eyes shot to the door as they grew wide with fear, her heart having instantly leapt into her throat. What if he came back? What if he came back and Michael was still gone?

And Michael was gone wasn't he? Locked away; not just inside this room, but locked within himself as well. Where was he?

She slowly sat up, her eyes never leaving him, her body rigid and waiting, just in case. But his eyes never left the spot of air he was staring into, his arms never moved from around himself as if the feel of his hands was a comfort to him.

She placed her feet on the floor in front of her. She was still moving slowly, and when her movements didn't draw his attention she eased up onto her feet, her body protesting painfully as she came to stand at her full height.

She held her breath then, and took a step towards him. She felt fear course through her, fear that he would strike out at her, but she had to do this. She had to get him back before Paul returned…Because if she didn't…She took another step, her feet taking her closer.

She stopped when she was a few feet from him and eased to the floor, her body slightly to the side of him out of striking distance. She sat for a moment her eyes taking in the damage to his knuckles, the jagged skin covered in blood. He was still bleeding, but the lacerations weren't deep. Her eyes moved from there to his face, the bright red bloom of a bruise where Paul had struck him holding her riveted. She reached and felt along her own swollen cheek, wincing as her fingertips explored the damage, all the while continuing to study him. He still was not aware of her presence; he hadn't so much as looked her way.

She pulled her hand away and inched closer, her eyes never leaving his face. She thought if there was a change it would be noticeable here first and maybe it would allow her enough time to move away from him.

From her position across the room she had failed to note his lips trembling as each silent wave shook through him. But at this distance she could easily see the rapid pulse pounding in his neck. And his eyes…His eyes were riveted, a glasslike sheen over the blue hues making them brighter. But it wasn't that which drew her, it was the pain, the fear she saw there, the childlike expresion, the small 'O' of his mouth depicting a young child, not a man in his thirties.

She had seen this fear in the eyes of a child many times. In her ER rotation she had witnessed many a fearful child rushed there for attention, a parent who was supposed to love them, care for them, having delivered the bruising blow. The inflicted pain was always there, only too apparent in both injury and hollowed eyes. She looked on him now and felt something she hadn't thought she could ever feel for this man, her abductor. She felt pity and sorrow. She felt a kinship, an understanding.

It was with this new found feeling that she reached for him, heedless of any blow he may impart, heedless of what it meant to her own survival if she couldn't get him back. She could only see the desperate child within him, the one that needed so badly to be held, to be told to come out, to be reassured that it was okay. She reached for him now, not knowing if he would accept her embrace or push her away. She reached and touched his arm, a gentle gesture.

He flinched at her touch as if startled, but still she moved closer, her heart beginning to pound as what she was doing suddenly bled through to her. But she didn't let it stop her.

"It's okay Michael. It's okay. You're okay. I'm here with you, you're not alone." Her fingers closed over his arm and she gently eased it away from his body. It was only then that he pulled away, his arm moving back up protectively.

She took a deep breath and swallowed, the taste of fear blooming in her mouth at his sudden movement. Still she wouldn't be so easily deterred. She slid up next to him and snaked an arm around him, letting his arms stay as they were. He made to pull away, but she tightened her grip a little, not allowing him to leave her side.

"Its okay, Michael, you're going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine…" She knew she needed to ground him. His brain was clearly living in the past and she needed to bring him to the present; to protect her from the present threat of Paul. "It's um, today is…" She racked her brain for the date, her mind refusing to accept that less then a day had passed since she was brought here. "The date is May, 17th, 2007. You're name is Michael, and you're…You're here to help your brother Lincoln."

She felt him relax a little at her words, so she repeated them again, not knowing what else to say that would be a comfort to him. She repeated them over and over, her head coming to rest against his shoulder, her eyes going closed as the adrenaline that had fueled her was finally spent. She sat like that holding him; unaware of how many times she had repeated her mantra. She spoke until her throat was sore and then she kept on. She would talk to him for as long as it took. She would bring back from where ever he was…She had to. 


	9. Chapter 9

The whimper from her lips was loud, almost jarring her from the tattered sleep her exhausted body had craved; had insisted upon. The mantra from her lips had long since faltered, dying away as she sank into this realm of flashes, snippets of dream, rampant nightmare.

The room was spinning chaotically behind her closed eyelids, coming to land on her prone form as if she were an observer looking down on the scene. She was looking upon the woman, auburn hair, a lone figure on the cot, when a flash like the fluttering of wings sped time forward. Suddenly no longer alone, no longer a simple voyeur, a heavy weight hit her chest. Paul was there.

His leering face loomed close, the sweat standing out on his brow lending credence to his phantom form. The breath he expelled in his excitement was all too real as it pushed against her hair, smelling of promises she was loath to fathom. But she was given no choice as he moved closer, the heavy weight of his frame pinning her body to the thin cot, pushing the air from her lungs.

Her mind had time to scream this wasn't real, he wasn't real, and then she was free of him. She was once again at Kirsty's party, unknowingly the start of the real nightmare she had found herself in. A sensation of being watched hit her and then she saw him, the eyes of her assailant leeching onto her from across the room, glowing with heat, basting her flesh with a shiver of revulsion.

Another flash took her from this relative safety to tethered limbs, rapid pulse. And she couldn't breathe, God why couldn't she breathe?!

She was gulping for air that would not come, could not reach her burning lungs. The tape was once again securing her lips, but in this dream reality it had extended to press over her nose. She began to panic and thrash, her body starving for oxygen.

Flash, she was alone on the cot, she could breathe again. Taking in deep gulps of air, her eyes were drawn to movement in the shadowy den and her heart sped. Paul was standing over her in the darkness, a smirk of pleasure at what was to come lighting his features.

Flash, he was back on her and this time there was no one to stop him as her clothes were torn, and pulled away, as rough hands met her tender curves forcefully, the dream hands laboring her breathing as fear sent tears down her swollen face, to mingle with the dried blood on her chin.

The horror behind her eyes was etched tightly across her features, the images sending tremors through her body, her mind now insisting that this was real, chest heaving, fist clenching, real. Her head was thrashing against his shoulder, each movement sending a small knock against the steel door behind her, each breath coming in a whimpered gasp until she was lurching forward.

Her frantic eyes darted to the cot, the four walls of her prison, the markings on the stark wall, the familiarity of her surroundings helping to ground her. Her heart was pounding in her chest like a gavel, her breath a ragged necessity, each lungful that filled her mouth helping to expel the sour taste of fear, helplessness.

A dream, it was a dream, she was safe. She felt Michael's hand tighten slightly around her slim fingers and it was only then that she realized he was holding onto her.

XXXXX

She froze at this intimacy, her first reaction to pull away, to be out from under his touch as the final vestiges of dream still clung to her. She wanted to cower away from him, the idea of anyone touching her unwelcome. But his fingers were not demanding, they were soft, so unlike what she would have expected from him. Why was he holding her hand? Forcing movement she pushed the thought that he was trying to offer comfort from her mind and looked down at his bloodied knuckles. Some of the wounds were still bleeding, needing attention but she had no supplies.

Damage assessed her mind raced over the limited possibilities in the small room. She could rip the sheet into strips and use the tape she knew to be in the drawer to dress the wounds, but she had nothing to use as a disinfectant. It occurred to her what she was doing. She was pushing herself into doctor mode in hopes of banishing the dream that still sent shivers through her quaking system. She was busying her mind with the needs of someone other then herself to lessen her own suffering, her own fear. And it was working as her nerves settled and her mind cleared allowing coherent thought, coherent action.

Preparing to set her plan in motion she lifted her head and let her eyes move clinically up his chest, to his face. His head was resting against the door, his eyes staring somewhere off to the side of the room.

Observing his movements she watched as he swallowed, his Adam's apple moving along his throat smoothly. His eyes were blinking normally and his breathing was much steadier; not as rushed, the pulse at his neck beating at a more rested pace then before. Was he back?

She looked down, her eyes once again coming to rest on their joined hands. Swallowing hard she began to move carefully, slowly, easing her fingers from his grip. The sound of his shorn head scraping along the door sent her heart speeding, her eyes shooting back up to catch him staring at her.

The blue of his eyes was an ocean depth of pain. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I never mean to do it. It just happens, it's just in me." His voice was barely more then a whisper and it held an almost childlike quality that halted her movements.

His eyes squeezed closed then and a single tear moved from behind his closed lids to crawl slowly along his bruised cheek. She stared in fascination at the lone streak of emotion, her eyes drowning in the single drop of moisture, her mind plummeting into the unasked questions that filled her head. Was he apologizing for doing this to her, for keeping her here…for the kidnapping? Which Michael was she with, the Michael who had been hurt as a child, surely it wasn't the Michael she knew best, the cold individual who still held her captive?

"Did I hurt you? Did…Did I do that to you?"

She hadn't noticed his eyes coming open but now followed his line of vision to the ripped shoulder of her blouse, the large purple bruises blooming brightly on her fair skin in the rough shape of fingers where Paul's hand had gripped her. Michael thought he had done this to her?

She shook her head, her eyes moving back to his face. "No, it wasn't you. It was Paul, it was your brother. You stopped him." Her voice sounded shaky and rough even to herself. She attempted to clear her throat. "I um, I should wrap your hand, your bleeding." She moved to get up and he grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. Her behind hit the floor hard and she squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of a blow that was never delivered. Instead the panic in his voice hit her.

"I'm locked in, aren't I? He locked me in." His eyes echoing the panic delved into hers briefly before flitting away to land on the small cot.

She knew she needed to keep him grounded. She couldn't let him slip away again. She bit back her own fear and nodded. "But its okay, your okay, Michael, you're not alone. I'm…I'm here with you…" She cleared her throat again. Why don't you tell me…Tell me something about your brother, your brother, Lincoln."

His eyes came back to rest on her face with a look of confusion as if she had pulled him away from some deep place, but its tentacles still fought to hold him. "Lincoln?"

She nodded, "Yes, tell me about him...About Lincoln." She held his eyes trying to help him to stay focused.

She saw the hardness enter his blue orbs as they cleared and fear coursed through her veins when his voice came out colder, more like the Michael she had come to expect. "Why would I want to do that, why would I wanna tell you anything about my brother?"

She shook her head in a pretense of nonchalance that she wouldn't have bought herself. "You don't have to, Michael…You don't have to tell me anything."

She reached trembling fingers and tore at her shirt hoping to pull the sleeve away to make a crude bandage for his hand. She busied herself with the task as he studied her, the only sound in the room the tearing of cloth as her fingers worked.

A startled jump escaped her when he spoke. "He doesn't deserve this, what they're doing to him…What they intend to do."

Her eyes moved over his face, his features unreadable. She reached and took his hand gently in hers and this time it was his turn to jump. She was no longer sure that he had been talking to her. She thought maybe he had drifted somewhere else again, this time not to the past, but the near future as he thought of the fate which awaited his brother.

She stared at him then seeing humanity she had not yet seen, not even in his previous regression. She saw the love one brother held for another and it lent an understanding she had never thought she would feel. She shook herself lightly and grabbed the strips of soft cotton.

Working gently but quickly she bound his hand, making do without the tape. She didn't want to chance moving again. "Um, you'll need to put something on it, to clean it I mean, so it doesn't get infected."

He turned his hand, flexing his fingers. "It's fine." His eyes moved over her then taking in her bruised arm, the ragged threads of her tattered shirt. "Here, take this," He pulled the shirt over his head and held it out to her.

She gasped at the sight of him, the scars jumping out at her in the harsh lighting. There were so many, each one telling a different story to be sure. A moment of pain etched in his flesh, and no doubt forever in his psyche.

She knew she was staring and pulled her eyes up to his face. Blue eyes met copper then with intensity and she averted her gaze, her fingers reaching blindly for the proffered garment. She pulled it over her head and then down around her body, the large shirt enveloping her in the instant warmth of his body.

Eyes cast down at her hands she was afraid to look at him now; afraid her eyes would ask the questions she could never voice. How or who had inflicted such atrocities, and when? The scars looked old.

"Thank you," she had just managed quietly, and then he was moving to stand. 


	10. Chapter 10

Watching him pace, his eyes shooting to the door, his hands clenching at his sides, all these signs of agitation were making her nervous. But at least he was still with her, not sitting, staring off into space like before.

"Um, does that work, the TV?" His pacing stopped as her words broke through the heavy silence and now his steely eyes turned to bore into her where she sat perched on the small cot. "I mean, maybe we could watch something, it might help to pass the time." She explained.

She was fully expecting him to tell her to shut up, and resume his pacing. But his next footsteps led him to the old box on the dresser, and then he was hunting for the cord. Sara watched him from afar as he plugged in the old television set and turned it on, the room instantly filling with the sound of static as snow appeared on the small screen. Reception without cable was minimal at best and somehow she doubted this luxury was a part of the accommodations.

Long fingers pulled up the antennae in an attempt to bring in the picture hidden behind the noise and then he was flipping through the channels, a futile search or so it seemed until he hit a channel that was visible through the white snow.

There was only a slight haze covering the actor's faces. It was an old episode of Gilligan's Island. A fleeting thought flew through her tired mind. If only I had a cocoanut, maybe I could build a cell phone. She was Unaware of her building laughter, thinking herself incapable of any such emotion until it was ringing out, until he was turning; his eyes once again a smoldering intensity.

"Sorry." She pushed the hair back from her face and slid her body along the cot until her aching shoulders were against the wall.

Without a word his gaze shifted to the empty spot beside her and then he was moving. She flinched noticeably as his body flopped down beside her, his long frame taking up most of the remaining space on the small cot.

And then he was staring straight ahead, his eyes locking on the figures moving about the screen, their tinny antics playing out in the otherwise still room.

Sara's attention to all outside appearances was on the small screen, but her eyes danced to his face peripherally every few minutes. She was watching for signs that he was slipping away. So far he seemed to be okay, his eyes responding normally, his face its normal mask of cool indifference despite the comedic adventures of the castaways.

On screen The Skipper was in his hammock, his famous line, "Little buddy" filling the room with canned laughter as Gilligan fell from his own hammock to the floor.

As she watched her eyes grew heavier. Time was slipping away from her, her eyes giving into the heavy downward pull of each blink, each snippet of rest. The next thing she knew she was pulling herself up from this blissful place, this dreamless refuge.

Unsure how much time had passed, she lifted her eyes to the screen which was now showing an infomercial, something about reducing your thighs in just four short weeks.

A small sigh sounded beside her and it was only then that she allowed herself to fully look upon him. He was asleep. Somewhere in this short passage of time he too had fallen into slumber, his features now serene; his breath moving deeply within his chest.

She stared at him uninhibited, the shift of his eyes in REM state, the rise and fall of his body in this relaxed state peaceful, like that of a child. Her eyes scanned his features, the small mole by his temple; the scar above his lip…So many scars…So much pain...

She studied his bare torso fully taking them in, the scars, some small, some rather large, most of them old, but some shiny and new. Her eyes moved first to the small scabbed line on his chest. From there they moved to the one on his arm, his abdomen. Was he a cutter? Were these wounds self inflicted?

She felt a conflict of emotions. Here was a man, who by all means she should hate, despise, but instead she felt pity, she felt remorse. What must his life have been like thus far for him to be so damaged? And now here he was locked away, his plan having gone all wrong, a plan that must be so vital to his existence. His brother Lincoln must be important to him for Michael to go to such extremes to have him released, to risk being arrested if he were to fail, to risk a life in prison locked away…the very torture that would be his own undoing.

He shifted in his sleep then, his body sliding towards her causing her thoughts to falter, her body to move as far along the cot as the small space would allow.

Despite this journey his head still found her lap, his fingers coming up to his chin just grazing her thigh. She sat still then, her heart slowing its gallop as the seconds ticked away. She was forcing her body to relax under his weight, each deep breath spent in an effort to do just that, as the droning television played on, it's mindless babble all but ignored.

Seconds turned into minutes, her eyes held captive by the back of his head; the small scar in his closely cropped hair holding her attention. Was there any piece of him left undamaged? It was only when he began to whimper in his sleep that she knew he was dreaming.

"Lincoln," a breathless cry, and it was more a cry then anything, left his lips and her chest tightened in a band of fear.

Unsure how to comfort him, or if it was even a good idea to try, she forced action from her limbs, her hand coming up slowly to land in a light touch against the side of his head. His body jumped slightly under her fingers and she faltered for a beat.

A deep breath later she was stroking him gently, soothingly, unsure if her actions would ulitimately result in him lashing out at her, but fearing the alternative; a relapse if she wasn't able to sooth him.

The breath she was holding left her in a silent whoosh of relief as he calmed, his body relaxing, his breath easing out of him in a deepness that implied peace. The dream had passed. As her fingers continued to trail over him her eyes moved back to the screen. Well toned thighs…if only…She wished that were her biggest concern.

Time passed...As the infomercial droned on, her mind drifted.

Eyes once again on her slim fingers, her body relaxing, she was drifting hypnotically, her lashes growing lazier with each blink, each stroke.

Her impending slumber was broken as the noise; a sound imbedded in her psyche filled the room.

Her eyes shot open and to the gaping doorway. Paul was standing in the hall looking in at them.

Her voice was frozen in her chest, as if a cold hand were gripping it, preventing it from escaping into the scream her mind craved. What was he waiting for?

Her riveted eyes took him in as he began to move. Closer now, his tall frame taking up much of the doorway, his features lit but still cast in shadow where the overhead light refused to traverse. This ambience made him loom darker, larger then she knew him to be, accelerating her fear. Pulse pounding loudly in her ears she forced herself to move, to speak, afraid his next steps would be rushed, taking him closer still until he was upon them, like a wolf on its prey.

"Michael, Michael, wake up!" Her frantic plea was accompanied by her hands shaking him roughly in her fear and anxiety. She couldn't let Paul catch Michael unawares.

Michael's body stiffened in her hands and then he was jerking upright, away from her. His eyes landed on Paul and then he was on his feet, was moving, only to stop dead in his tracks in the middle of the room.

It wasn't until she shifted her body to see around him that the gun came into view. Paul was pointing it at Michael, a sure shot at such close range.

"Gimme the gun, Paul." Michael's voice was menacing, demanding.

Paul shook his head, but the gun was held steadily in his unwavering grip. "I know that look Michael, if I give you this gun…"

Paul's words unfinished, hung like doom in the air, a tangible force met by silence, the muscles standing out in Michael's taut arm's and back, the tendons racing beneath the flesh as he clenched and released his fists, clenched, released, his agitation at his brother's words jumping furiously within the confining skin. Still he remained where he was, his legs unmoving; his body rigid. "

Sara watched as Paul entered the room, his closeness causing fear to bloom brighter, more vividly as he stepped into the illuminating light, his features eating up the shadows. She slid back away from him, as her many thoughts and fears ran rampant through her head. What was he going to do to them? Would he shoot Michael and…She forced air into her lungs and fought against the growing tide of helplessness.

"You need me Michael, you need me now more then ever." This ominous statement sent a chill through Sara, but her mind was unable to grasp the meaning behind his words. How was it that Michael now needed him more? Did Paul really think he was needed to comfort his distraught brother?

Her head ached from the confusion, from the fraction of sleep visited upon her near exhaustion. Michael's voice came out, echoing her confusion, but ending with a deadly after taste. "How could I possibly need you Paul? Do I need you to lock me up again? Is that what I need?" Sara felt fear course through her, pumping into her veins, the adrenaline on high. She was ready to move if need be, to make a break for the door. It was her only chance and she knew it. If Michael pounced she would run.

Paul's hand lowered, the gun moving down by his side in an act of good will. "It's Lincoln, Michael. There was an attempt at Fox River…He was shanked…It's bad he may not make it." A frozen beat later, "We have to stick together Bro, for Linc. It's gonna take both of us to get him out of this alive…You know that."

Sara stared breathless at Michael's bare back. She was trying to gauge his reaction and at the same time trying not to think what this could mean for her.

If Lincoln died then what? She saw the air rush out of him, his form deflating before her eyes, and then his hands came up to cup his shorn head.

He stood like this for a moment as if defeated and then his body straightened, his posture built up by an inner strength that moved to comsume him.

He turned then, his eyes boring into her ablaze with unshed tears, fraught with anger.

His harsh words were meant for his brother standing behind him, Sara knew this, but still they lashed out at her, making her flinch. "Get them on the phone…Now!" 


	11. Chapter 11

(Mahone)

The contact phone had remained silent for the last five hours, if only Frank Tancredi had followed suit. Alex Mahone sighed into the silence and rubbed a hand over his tired features, his long fingers stopping to massage his temples in this momentary reprieve from the Governor's constant brooding presence. He knew the man was anxious, hell he would be climbing the wall if it were his son in the hands of these people, but it was taking all of the control Alex had to not yell at the man. The words "Get out" had been on the tip of his tongue so many times the last few hours…Now the Governor was off somewhere resting, thank God.

Alex reached for his pen, his fingers unscrewing it only to screw the two pieces of plastic securely into place. Over and over his fingers would do this exercise as his mind sorted through the information coming in, the news on Lincoln Burrows' condition only a small part of it.

Recent information had been brought to their attention concerning Michael Scofield. It seemed the younger sibling had a vice that required funding; gambling. Playing this tidbit over in his mind, dissecting it and analyzing how it played into this, and Alex was sure it did play into it somehow, he let it fill his mind, fingers moving faster…thoughts speeding in overdrive.

The contact phone next to his hand rang splitting the silence, and his thoughts shattered to be replaced with trepidation. They hadn't heard from Scofield since his demands. And since they still had two hours to meet them, this could only mean one thing, they knew. Somehow they knew about what had gone down at the prison.

He motioned to the agent sitting quietly off to the side and then snatched up the phone, his eyes never leaving the agent who was now behind the computer trying to decipher the constantly changing phone signal that had thus far gone untraced. Alex knew some big bucks had to have gone into that kind of technology.

He pushed the button at the agent's nod and brought it up to his ear, "Mahone here."

"Tell me what's happening, Agent. Tell me why I shouldn't just kill her." The voice though mechanical in resonance held a simmering anger that was only too human.

"Why you shouldn't kill her. Okay, from that statement I'm guessing you know about the events at Fox River?" At the silence that greeted him. "Of course you do. You're much too smart not to have someone on the inside, someone in the prison."

"Tell me about Lincoln." Impatience evident now, "Tell me how you're going to make this work Agent Mahone."

"Time, we need more time. Once your brother's condition improves…"

"Time, your answer is Time? I don't think you're following me Agent. What are you going to do to fix this? What are you willing to do to save her?"

"No, you're not following me." Anger was seeping into his voice now, knuckles turning white around the slim pen, "If we move your brother now, he could die. He's in an intensive care unit. If he dies this was all for nothing right…Right?"

Silence greeted Alex and his hold on the pen loosened in his sweaty grip. He let it fall to the desk top in relief as the mechanical voice filled his ear.

"You have four days, Agent Mahone. If you're people fuck this up again, she dies."

The phone went dead in his hand. Replacing it on the desk, his eyes moved to the agent behind the computer who just shook his head. They were still without a location but at least they had more time. Four days was a hell of a lot longer then two hours.

XXXXX

Alone now but for her fears and the small television set, her coppery eyes trained on the screen, Sara tried to pay attention to the moving images, the voices of Beaver and Wally Cleaver, anything to keep from thinking, but her mind refused to budge. She could still hear the rage of only moments before, the room seemingly tainted with the echoes of her two captor's voices, voices that were a constant reminder of how hopeless the situation had become.

If Lincoln Burrows died, then what? The images on the screen blurred as tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back and shifted to lean her face against the cool mattress. Her body ached badly as it had stiffened in her prone position. She groaned out loud with each movement, but the new positioning of her wrists, they were taped in front of her this time, probably helped ease some of her discomfort and for this she was grateful.

He hadn't met her eyes when taping them, she couldn't help but notice. Michael's eyes had cast downward as he secured her wrists and ankles only looking at her briefly when the job was complete. His eyes had been a mystery then, the small glimpse showing something that confused her; remorse. But remorse for what, tying her up again, or was it for the days, if not hours…Moments to come? Would he kill her, or allow Paul to do the deed if it came to that?

Sara shuddered at the thought and tried to think of how Michael had rescued her from Paul, the humanity she had seen, the scars; the tragedy…The love for his brother Lincoln. She had to hold onto that. Lips trembling, tears flowing freely into the thin sheet she gave into her despair despite her attempts at self comfort.

Some time had passed, The Cleavers having been replaced by Bewitched. Sara's tears were dry and her mind was beginning to go numb from emotional overload, beginning to close off from her surroundings.

The door opening earned her eyes, but little movement as the two men entered, the tail end of an argument preceding them. "Four days, Mike? Are you insane? This is crazy!"

"Shut up, Paul…" Michael's tone was warning.

"I say we send the Governor a little something to show we mean business." Paul's eyes, alight with a dangerous gleam fell on Sara and she lowered her head, squeezing her own eyes closed as the implications of his words bled through the fog of her mind.

"Leave her alone, Paul…I swear if you ever touch her again…"

"Whoa, Mike hold up, I wasn't suggesting we cut off her head or anything, that would just be fucked up, but maybe a toe or something, something small…Just to let them know we're not happy with their babysitting skills."

Sara felt the whimper leave her lips at his words and buried her face deeper into the cot in an attempt to hide.

"'We' do nothing. 'You'…stay away from her." A beat later, "Give me your keys Paul."

"Come on Mike, I mean I promised to leave her alone, didn't I?"

Silence, and then a resigned sigh followed by the jangling of a set of keys filled the room. "Fine, take care of her yourself. But don't think I don't know what's going on here, Michael." Paul's voice sounded closer, and Sara could see his legs as he passed in front of her on his way to the door.

A moment later he was gone. She was once again alone with Michael.

XXXXX

A veil of hair impairing her vision, Sara didn't see or hear him moving towards her until he was there, light blue denim filling the white spaces in front of her as it interlaced with her auburn strands.

There was a silence then, the small TV the only noise, the twinkle, twinkle, twink of a witch's nose the only sound in the small room.

The silence was broken however; after a few beats of canned, tinny laugh tracks, his voice sounding close. "Sara?" There was a slight pause and then he was kneeling in front of her. "Sara." She heard his voice, and forced her head to move, to turn towards him, her movements knocking away the curtain of hair.

She said nothing but met his eyes. A moment later he was cutting at the tape binding her wrists. When her hands were free he moved to her ankles freeing them next. The sound of the adhesive leaving the material of her pants filled the air, and then she was curling up, hugging herself.

"He won't touch you again… I took his keys."

She nodded, knocking more hair into her eyes in her new position. She heard rather then saw the sound of metal clanking and shifted her eyes to the pair of handcuffs he held in his hand

"I can't leave you loose, but…" He took her arm and slipped one of the bracelets around it, closing it gently. The sound of him reaching around her to secure the other cuff to the bed frame was heard next, and then the television was alone in its babble.

"What happens to me if your brother…If Lincoln doesn't make it? What then?"

He didn't answer her and she hadn't really expected him to, her words having come as a surprise even to herself.

"I'll bring you something to eat later." He moved to stand then and made his way to the television.

"Please, please leave it on?" She met his eyes from across the room. He nodded and then flipped off the overhead light, the illumination from the TV screen dancing along the walls as he closed the door and locked it behind him. 

(Chapter End Notes:)

Another head joke, I know, but my point here is that even a fucked up AU Kellerman thinks it's fucked up to cut off the hostage's head. 8-S 


	12. Chapter 12

Sara wasn't sure what had awakened her, but the air in the small room had changed somehow, its texture, its taste, the very fabric of each breath raked into her lungs filling her with dread as her heart sped.

And then she knew; she was no longer alone. Her eyes pushed at the darkness, as she lay perfectly still, hoping to not give away that she was awake, trying to control her breathing, lest it become obvious. The bleariness of sleep that clouded her vision attempted to hide his form, but she saw him there. He was much quieter then his brother or maybe pure exhaustion had over rode her senses, the need to sleep having become more vital?

Whatever the case, she hadn't even heard him enter the room. She was guessing now that it was the small movements of his body as he eased down the wall that had awakened her. He was sitting quietly, non-threateningly and she felt her fear disperse somewhat, only to be replaced with a tension filled curiosity.

Staring at him, a voyeur in the darkness, Sara took in his shadowed face, his long fingers resting lightly on the floor where he sat. With his head back against the wall it was hard to tell what if anything he was looking at.

True to his word Michael had brought her a sandwich and a bottle of water. A short trip to the bathroom later, she was left alone again for what had to have been hours. So why was he back now, why was he hiding in the shadows of the darkened room? He would normally turn on the lights. Her heart kicked up a notch in fear. Had something happened to Lincoln?

"Michael?" Jumping slightly at the two syllables, he lowered his head to look through the darkness seeking her face. "He could die, Sara. After all of this he could die in a hospital bed somewhere and there's nothing I can do to stop it." Fingers moved through the darkness to land on his cropped head.

Relief flooded through Sara at his words. Lincoln was still alive, therefore there was still hope. Not sure why he would be telling her this, why he would share his concerns, "He won't, he can't die..." This was met by silence. "I'm a doctor, Michael. If you can tell me what happened to him, what they've told you about his condition, maybe I can explain things. Maybe I can help."

Steady silence, but at least her offer wasn't met with another response like the last time she had asked him to tell her about his brother Lincoln, at least not yet. What reaction could she expect? She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't see the potential threat that could be looming there and this lent trepidation. She knew she could be arming him with reason to lash out, or close off.

"He was stabbed Sara, with a shank. He's in a critical care unit…I don't know anything else." A beat later, his voice filled with more emotion, "I need to know that he's going to make it...That my brother is going to be okay."

"I'm sure he's getting the best care possible…Do you know the hospital he was admitted to?"

"Chicago Memorial, your hospital." Another beat of silence, "You could call them, Sara. They could tell you his condition. I could set it up with Mahone, with your father." This statement was voiced with his eyes boring through the darkness to meet wide copper.

"I can, I will, if it would help." Sara reached out a hand then, fully expecting him to ignore it or push it away. The heat of his fingers almost startled her into pulling away herself, but she stayed strong as his hand closed over hers sealing the deal.

(Mahone)

"He wants Sara to call the hospital," Mahone's voice bled quietly into the room, as if he were speaking more to himself then the anxious man standing beside him, and really he was just thinking out loud.

Frank's eyes which had been riveted to the phone just moments before narrowed as they fell on Mahone. "Why did you tell him we needed some time? If Sara makes the call we'll know that she's okay, that this goof up hasn't forced their hand; that my daughter is still alive."

Mahone's eyes grew hard as a cold smile fell across his mumbling lips. "He's a clever bastard…So very, very clever."

"What are you saying?" Frank's voice was rising but Mahone ignored him.

Scofield was smart all right. He knew that while they might say no to Michael himself making the call, the Governor wouldn't dream of saying no to them having Sara call the hospital. This left no wiggle room, no room for negotiating for more time, nothing. Well they did get proof that she was still breathing but still, very clever.

He turned to Frank. "I need time to speak with Lincoln Burrows' physicians. I need to make sure they tell Sara exactly what I want Scofield and Kellerman to know, nothing more, nothing less… He thinks he's so clever…" He was talking to himself again.

Frank stared at the gleam in the agent's eyes and his resolve strengthened. He was not about to let this man call the shots where his daughter's life was concerned. "I'm coming along to the hospital. I want to be there when my daughter calls. I need to hear her voice; I need to know that she's okay."

Mahone was ignoring Frank again as he made a mental inventory of all he knew about Lincoln Burrrows' condition. Yes, he needed to make sure only enough information was given. Too much info and…

"Agent Mahone!"

Alex's eyes cleared as he focused on Frank Tancredi. He listened as the Governor repeated his request and then nodded. "Of course, you're coming along. I understand completely."

He understood alright, but he wasn't about to let the Governor run things, not this far along in the game. 

(Chapter End Notes:)

Sorry its so short, but I have a busy week coming up and I wanted to put at least a little something out here. Thanks for the great reviews all! 8)


	13. Chapter 13

(Sara)

It was hours later, longer then Sara would have expected but the time to make the phone call to the hospital regarding Lincoln Burrows' condition had finally arrived.

Michael had set things up with her father presumably, but Sara wasn't really sure of the details, only that she was to make the call.

It was just the two of them in the room now and Sara found herself wondering and not for the first time, where Paul was. Not that she missed his smug face, that wasn't possible, but she hadn't seen him since he had grown agitated and left the room.

Maybe the two brothers had another falling out? Most likely Michael had just forbid Paul from tagging along thinking his presence in the room might upset her. And he was right, Sara was nervous enough.

Her nervousness grew now as new thoughts festered; she could very easily mess things up, make Michael angry with her. Sara knew he would be listening to her every word.

Fidgeting on the small cot unable to sit still, Sara began to take deep breaths hoping to calm herself. She could do this...

She tried to clear her mind, but the repeated sound of the handcuff striking the metal cot frame wasn't helping, the small noises seemingly much louder then they truly were in the otherwise quiet room. The TV had since gone silent, Michael having headed straight to it upon entering the room, his long fingers snapping it off mid infommercial announcement.

He turned to her now and she stilled her frame, placing her palms flat against her thighs.

"Is there someone you can trust? Someone you can ask for at the hospital, someone they won't be expecting you to ask for?"

Sara's mind sped over Michael's questions trying to find the right answer, one that would satisfy him. "I think so, yes." She knew what he wanted. Michael wanted her to speak with someone who hadn't been briefed, who hadn't been fed specific information about his brother's condition, with specific directions in conveying it. He was a lot smarter than his hostility led one to believe.

"Nurse Katie...Um, Wech, I trust her, Michael. She's good people, and, and I'm sure they won't be expecting me to ask for her."

He studied her for a moment, icy blue eyes locking to Sara's as if seeking the expected lie, but instead finding open copper. "Good, you'll ask for Nurse Wech, and only Nurse Wech, understand?"

Sara nodded, "Okay, I will...I'll do whatever you say."

She watched as Michael pressed the small buttons on his cell phone and stuck the phone to his ear to be sure there was a connection.

A beat later he was pressing the phone into her hand, his eyes once again stressing her co-operation. She locked eyes with him briefly, holding his gaze, and then forcing her hands not to shake Sara raised the phone to her ear.

XXXXX

The ringing of the phone was loud but for a moment, and then a man's voice filled her ear. "Mahone."

With little time to think, there was room for error and Sara knew this, but something had occurred to her as she held the small cell phone waiting for someone to pick up.

"Hello, Sara? Sara are you there?"

Not knowing if her decision was the right one; Sara could very well be signing her own death warrant and this had occurred to her as well, she ignored the voice and flipped the phone closed.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Sara brought her eyes up level with Michael's.

"What are you doing?" His eyes were warning, his tone with the same sharp edge.

"There's a better way to do this, Michael…A better way to learn of your brother's condition."

He was studying her, waiting for her to continue she realized.

Swallowing her fear, "My handbag, I had a handbag the night you…The night you brought me here. Did you keep it?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" Not waiting for an answer, "What does a hand bag have to do with anything?"

"My cell phone is in the hand bag. On the cell phone…I have Katie's phone number programmed in the address book." She watched his eyes clear as what she was suggesting fully registered. "We get the number and you call her directly, is that what you're saying?"

Sara nodded, "Yes, this way whoever is in charge can't stall. They can't feed her the information. And if we call right before she heads to lunch, she'll have her phone. Katie always has her phone at lunch, even if she's just going to the cafeteria."

His eyes were studying her suspiciously, "Why are you helping me?"

Sara didn't know the answer to this, an answer that she could easily convey with words. Her fear of Michael, 'that' she could grasp, could explain, but there was also this feeling that if she helped him he would maybe help her in return, that maybe he would let her live. And there was her answer," Holding her head high she met his eyes unwavering. "I guess I'm trying to prove to you that I'm more useful alive then I am dead."

He was silent for a beat, "If this is a trick…" Sara was shaking her head as he spoke, "There's no trick Michael. Just let me help you."

His eyes fell away from her then and he began to pace, making her nervousness kick up a notch with each hectic repetition.

Finally when she thought she might scream he stopped and turned to her. "Give me the phone." She did as he asked and then without a word he left the room, the sound of the key turning in the lock met with her relieved exhalation of breath.

(Mahone)

Alexander Mahone's hand shot up to his disheveled hair and scooped through it in agitation. As usual his thoughts were in overdrive with a quick shot of nitro.

"Something's wrong." This was but a mumbled hectic, breath going unnoticed in the loud, bustling room.

The sound of a pissed off Frank Tancredi was filling up most of the open air space, but Mahone was tuning him out, had been tuning everything out since the short trill of the cell phone had ended to be replaced by dead air and unanswered questions.

Something was wrong...

Why else would they break the connection? Had the woman tried something stupid, something Scofield had deemed unacceptable? There had been no indication of a struggle, no sound whatsoever in fact…just the broken connection...Still.

Eyes falling on the contact phone, Agent Mahone continued to pace the antiseptic floors of the hospital room they had commandeered for this set up. He felt his blood boil at the thought of all of his prep work flying out the window. "They'll call back," he couldn't believe otherwise.

Tamping his teeth down on his anger, his molten eyes moved to the chosen doctor. Blonde, pretty, an excellent speaker, Dr. Jennifer Colton was perfect.

Versed in communication and the criminal mind, a shrink as opposed to a medical doctor, Colton had been prepared to lie, to assure Sara that all was well and things were moving along as planned. The word Septicaemia would never fall from her lips, the fact that Lincoln Burrows was suffering from a possibly fatal blood infection would not be discussed.

Of course there had been the concern that Scofield may demand Sara ask for a known colleague and for that they had a backup. Dr. Ina Churleder, not only a colleague but also a friend of Dr. Tancredi's was standing by for just that purpose.

"It was perfect!" The sound of his hand slamming into the wall sent all eyes on Alex.

"Agent?" Governor Tancredi was making his way across the room with a concerned Dr. Colton following close behind.

Holding his hands up to ward them off, Alex spoke quickly. "I'm going out for some air…I just need some air." Hands still held up, he moved to the door.

Minutes later he was out in the parking lot taking deep, steady breaths.

(Sara)

Tapping her fingers on the steel cot, Sara's eyes moved to the door. Michael had been gone roughly half an hour, all of which Sara had spent worrying she'd made a mistake. What if Lincoln was dead and there was a cover up? But if that were the case she was as good as dead anyways, wasn't she?

Running a hand up through her hair, Sara squeezed her eyes closed and fought against the despair and anxiety that so often tried to claim her. She knew she needed to be strong, to remain focused, but one question kept clawing at her mind; would Michael actually harm her, would he let Paul 'take care of her' if the need arose?

"I can't think like that," her voice sounded weak in the strong silence. "I can't think like that!" Louder, her voice filling more space, making her spine straighter as the words leapt out of her.

Sara repeated her mantra over and over until she was half convinced that the words were true and then she fell into a calm silence

Her ears attuned to that silence, a tiny noise sounded sending her eyes to the door. Sara watched as it swung open.

"You're back." Stupid words, but what did one say when greeting their abductor?

Holding up a small piece of paper Michael silently entered the room and shut the door. "Nurse Katie Wech, 555-3759." He waved it in the air and then stopped in front of her, letting the paper drift to her denim clad knees. "Make the call."

Sara's eyes moved from the paper to the offered phone.

Reaching with little hesitation she wrapped her fingers around it and flipped it open.

It was with a steady hand that Sara pressed the seven small buttons, raised the phone to her ear and waited for the sound of her friend's voice.

XXXXX

"Katie, it's me, Sara."

Sara closed her eyes as the sound of her friend's frantic voice filled the room. "Sara, Oh God everyone is so worried about you!"

Michael had put the cell on speaker phone, he could hear every word.

Nodding, Sara pushed the hair back from her forehead. "Katie, listen, I know, I know, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to get Lincoln Burrows' file, his medical file. I need you to get it and read it to me, please."

She was greeted with silence for a beat and then Katie's worried voice, "Sara I don't know, I should call the police or..or maybe your father…I don't know."

"No!" Sara forced calm back into her voice and continued, "Katie, listen to me, just get the file, please. Just get the file and tell me what it says."

Sara's grip tightened on the phone as she waited for her friend's response.

"Sara, I could lose my job if I do this…"

"And I could lose my life if you don't." Sara's voice was a grave calm. She was looking straight ahead paying no attention to Michael's riveted stare.

"Okay, I'll do it…I'll...I'll do it."

Sara's eyes closed in relief. "Thank you, Katie." Without waiting for her friend's response, "Where are you now?"

"I'm in the Nurse's lounge. I should be able to get to the file in a few minutes."

"Good, just put the phone in your pocket, without hanging up, until you have the file." Sara instructed as if she did this sort of thing on a daily basis. She was worried that cell phone use might look out of place on the hospital ward floor.

"Okay," There was the sound of fabric brushing the mouth piece and Sara could picture her friend in one of her signature sweaters, the one in her mind's eye a purple that complimented Katie's lovely dark skin. Sara felt a moment of weakness at this thought and pushed it aside. "I can't think like that," she whispered softly, ignoring Michael's eyes.

More rustling noises and then, "I have it," followed by the sound of papers being turned, and Sara could picture the file there in front of her. "Read it to me, Katie."

There was silence for a beat, "Katie…"

"Ah, okay." A slight pause and then, "Sara, are you sure…"

"Katie, please." Sara's eyes flew to a now pacing Michael. He seemed to be getting agitated at Katie's hesitation. "Please just read it."

"Okay, ah, it says he was taken into surgery and the damage to his...liver was repaired. He ah, he lost a lot of blood, but was successfully transfused. It looks like he is still receiving blood…" The sound of paper rustling could be heard and then Katie paused.

"Katie, please go on," Sara gave her friend a gentle prod as her own heart pounded in her ears.

Seconds ticked by...

"He…He has Septicaemia. He's on antibiotics, fluid IV's, it doesn't…It doesn't look too good, Sara…" Dead silence filled the room and then the sound of the television crashing to the floor shattered through Sara's forced calm.

Flipping the phone closed it slid from her hand and Sara scuttled back on the cot pressing her body against the far wall.

Eyes wide, heart pounding in fear Sara watched as Michael began slamming his fists into the wall.

XXXXX 

Sara watched, wincing with every punch until the rage suddenly left him, until his arms fell heavily at his sides.

Seconds had ticked on then with her heart still hammering heavliy in her chest.

He was now standing, head low, bleeding hands flat against the wall as the breath tore out of him. "I put my blood into this." His words were spoken quietly, but Sara heard them easily enough in the now silent room. "I put my blood into this…"

His words chilled her, the despair so real. He was hurting, his words dipped in a pain she could only imagine as she sat watching him not knowing what if anything she should or could do. He could so easily decide this was her fault, and then what? Would his rage then be directed at her, would her body then be subjected to the same fate as the now bloodied wall, the door that still held the markings of his last rage?

Shivering, Sara hugged herself with her one free arm. She knew now that she had made a mistake and that mistake could prove deadly. How could she have been so foolish?

Startled from his movements, Sara watched as he lifted his head to stare at the wall in front of him. She held her breath waiting as the quiet seconds ticked away seemingly more like hours of unknowing than these short strokes of the clock

And then he was moving.

Her back pressed painfully into the wall, but there was no where to go as he turned, his eyes cast low, his body slumping as he slid down the wall and wrapped his arms over his head. Sara stared as the blood rolled along his arms, its bright fingers shiny in the overhead glare, exposing so much that was meant to remain hidden.

Was it over? Was his rage truly spent? He seemed to be seeking comfort within, but for how long? How long would it be before he came around and realized how useless keeping her alive had suddenly become? How long before he realized his brother was probably as good as dead and he decided it was over?

Sara slid lower on the cot and buried her face in her hands as the hopelessness descended upon her.

XXXXX

Some time had passed, but Sara was unsure how long she and Michael sat there in the silence, lost in their own worlds. Her eyes had moved over him only to fall away so many times she had lost count. He hadn't really moved much, his arms were still hugging his head, but his forehead was now resting on his knees.

Maybe she should try to reach him, to say something reassuring? His brother was young and prior to the stabbing he had been in good shape. Sara recalled this from the photos in the newspaper after his sentencing.

She cleared her throat gently, "Michael?"

Her efforts were met with no response, no movement for a beat and then he lifted his head. "Plans have changed, Sara."

Her heart leapt into her throat and she wished she had remained silent, if only to delay this moment when he would reveal her fate.

When he spoke again her heart sped for a very different reason and she realized he had been there in the room with her all along. While she had thought him to be sinking into despair he had been thinking, planning his next move.

"I'm going to need your help when I get my brother out of there, Sara." His eyes bore into her with clear, blue determination. "I'm going to need you to take care of him, you're a doctor."

Sara sat up, her wide eyes never leaving him. "I would need supplies, but I can tell you everything I would need."

"You'll have everything you need."

He moved then, sliding his back up the wall to stand at his full height. Moving towards her, Michael snatched up the phone and shoved it into his pocket.

Without another word, he turned and made his way to the door, leaving her in a stunned silence.

(Mahone)

"This is over. We're done here."

Frank Tancredi's expression conveyed his dismay, his fear at what this could mean, but then his eyes lit with a sudden determination. "We can't just give up on this Agent…We have to wait for Sara to call!"

Too much time had passed since the rendezvous point. Experience in the field had taught Mahone that if an HT was hours late in calling, something was wrong. Hell, even an idiot could see that much; an idiot but not a distraught father.

Mahone sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was opening his mouth to explain things to the governor when he was interrupted.

"Sir?"

Alex's eyes moved up with just a shadow of the annoyance he was feeling at having been interrupted to land on the young agent and the anxious black woman at his side.

"Agent Mathers?"

"Sir, sorry to interrupt, but I think you should hear this." The young agent nodded to the woman and stepped aside.

Mahone's eyes shifted to the woman who was now nervously twisting her hands. But he sat forward in interest as she began to speak, filling in all of the missing pieces to why his plan had failed.

Scofield you rotten son of a bitch!

(HTHostage taker)


	14. Chapter 14

The contents of her handbag rained down upon the section of cot just to her left and Sara's eyes trailed over her belongings. Again it was just Michael in the room, to Sara's relief Paul was nowhere to be seen. But why was Michael upending her handbag?

Her eyes took in the small amount of makeup she carried, a few loose sticks of gum, a tampon, before coming to rest on her hospital ID card nestled next to her key cards.

"What are they for?" His voice was straight forward, he was expecting an answer and soon.

"You mean the cards?"

Of course he meant the cards, but her mind was racing and she needed to stall him so she could weigh her options. But really what choice did she have? Sara knew she should just be honest and tell Michael what she suspected he knew anyways. The ID card might not be of much use to him, but her key cards would open any door in the hospital. Clearing her throat she eyed the bottle of water he held, still stalling.

Following her eyes he surprised her by twisting off the cap and handing it to her. Taking a small sip, Sara's mind continued to race. If she confirmed his suspicions she was really doing this. She was allowing herself to be used in what, a hospital break?

Both key cards would be useful, the main one opening all doors the other being the key to the drug supply closets. He would need antibiotics for his brother among other things, all of which could be obtained with the use of the slim card her eyes once again skimmed over. If she didn't assist him in this she was as good as dead and she knew it.

"They're key cards, Michael. They're exactly what you will need to get your brother out."

Long fingers reached and plucked up the cards up as she explained what both key cards were for and then she fell silent waiting for him to speak.

Sara watched his slim fingers smooth over the cards as he paced and then he was turning to her. "So this card opens any door? Even the psych ward?"

Her eyes widened at his question, but she nodded. "Yes, even psych ward." She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head now. "But, Michael if you move your brother now…"

His eyes whipped to her. "If I move him now, you will help him. You're a doctor."

"I am, but he needs to be in a hospital and I…" His eyes were narrowed and the ice coming off them froze her tongue for a moment but she forced the words out. "If you do this too soon he may die despite my efforts and…If you just give it a few days maybe…He will have a better chance, Michael, that's all I'm saying." She let her eyes fall to her hands as his towering silence hovered above her thick in the air. She was afraid that Lincoln would be brought to her and her efforts would fail. If this happened…

"A few days is exactly what I was thinking, Sara." His voice cut through her severing her thoughts, whipping her eyes back to him. "But I am going with the KISS plan here." Her eyes showed her confusion and he met them with a small smile. "Kiss, keep it simple stupid. I'm not exactly a genius, but I do know how to plan a simple escape. Your cards along with my tech guy's alterations will make this pretty easy. Not to mention a few dozen psych ward patients roaming around to confuse things…"

Sara's eyes widened and slipped away, once again falling on her hands. It could work. Her mind reeled, Oh, God this could really work! She felt panic rise and forced it down before bringing her eyes back up to meet his.

XXXXX

So what now? What was Scofield thinking? He was pissed to be sure, Nurse Wech having told Sara Tancredi everything they had hoped to keep quiet.

But would he hurt the woman, would he dispose of his only bargaining chip?

Mahone scraped a hand over his face, his tired features reddening slightly beneath the force of his long fingers. He needed sleep and he knew it. But an exhausted Frank Tancredi had only agreed to get some rest if Mahone himself remained in residence to take the call when...if it came in. And he was of course instructed to alert the Governor immediately. Yeah, right. But Mahone was glad to be rid of the man, if only for a short while.

Staring down at the dregs of cold coffee that sat before him, Alex waited. He was waiting for what he couldn't tell you; Scofield to call and say it was okay, he would send over some magic beans that would instantly heal his possibly dying brother and then they would be good to go? Or for Sara to maybe walk into her father's office where they had moved shop after the bust at the hospital, the escape story on her lips worthy of the plot of a primetime television drama? Not too likely. His tired laugh followed this thought.

Twisting his pen, Alex's mind once again went over the past hours. Scofield had outsmarted him on this one, to be sure, but he wouldn't be so lucky next time. Nope, next time Alex would catch him up. But first he needed to figure out what Scofield's next move would be, if indeed there even was a next move, if Scofield hadn't already ended this and was now on his way out of the country. But would Scofield give up on his brother? Mahone didn't think it likely.

But if he thought his brother was dying...

Alex was asking himself again what he would do if he were the HT, and again he had no answer. This case was unlike any he had encountered thus far in his career as an FBI Hostage negotiator.

A deep sigh penetrated the stillness and turned into a yawn as his fatigued eyes once again took in the leather sofa. The truth was Alex was just too tired to think. And the copious amount of coffee he was pumping into his system just wasn't cutting it.

Tossing the pen aside, he stood to his full height and made his way over to the long sofa that had been taunting him with its promised comfort. He would rest for just a short while, he promised himself, refresh his mind; get back on his game.

Stretching out, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. A few minutes later his exhausted mind shut down and he was sound asleep.

(Authors note: Short I know, but the holidays and my son being out on winter break have kept me busy.)


	15. Chapter 15

(The next day)

The blindfold was fixed in place, but at least Michael hadn't taped her mouth, and Sara hoped this was a sign that his trust in her was growing. It was wasn't it? Wasn't this proof that Michael trusted her to not scream?

His hands on her firm but guiding led her along in the total darkness, her unsure feet shuffling with borrowed grace along the wooden floors of the lone hallway. Maybe her own trust was growing too, because Sara wasn't nearly as frightened as she could be.

Of course Michael had told her exactly where he was taking her and why. He had entered the room and immediately unlocked the cuff from the cot only to place the bracelet on her wrist giving her a matching set. His explanation had followed soon after with Sara listening quietly.

Sara heard a door creak open now and then the air changed subtly, becoming slightly cooler. She was in another room. A soft click filled the silence, that of the door being closed and locked behind them and then Michael's fingers were working at removing the blindfold.

As it fell away, Sara blinked against the glare of the bright room, the overhear lighting harsh to her light deprived eyes as her pupils fought the intrusion.

"I think I have just about everything we will need here. I need you to tell me if I'm right. If there's something I may have missed." Her coppery eyes shot from the small bed to the IV poles, the medical supplies, leaving the gauze and bandages to land on Michael's face.

Nodding, "Yes, I mean…I don't see the antibiotics, the IV bags and tubing, but the supplies look right. It looks like you have everything I will need to care for your brother." Sara was still careful how she spoke to him, using words that she hoped implemented her usefulness, her importance in his plans.

"Good, I'll have the rest after tomorrow. I can't risk going back in until nightfall."

Sara had no idea what this meant, going back in? Was Michael talking about the hospital?

A moment later the question was falling from her lips, "Going back in? I don't understand."

Moving his jacket aside, Michael flashed a set of key cards that were clipped to the side of his shirt. His sure fingers reached to unfasten them and then he tossed them to her. "Dr. Morgan." Sara read the name aloud as confusion clouded her features. "I don't understand…Are these my cards?" Sara was remembering Michael's words, him saying his tech guy could make alterations.

"I'm Dr. Morgan, well I am with that beard and mustache over there… the doctors coat," his smile was a slight quirk of his lips that drew her eyes. "I went in last night and no one was the wiser. All this stuff…" His arm made a sweeping gesture.

Michael had taken these things from the hospital? She was amazed at this, at his what, bravery? He had walked in and stolen these things...what if he had been caught? Where would that have left her, with Paul? Were he caught would he have told them where she was?

"I don't understand why…If you were caught? I mean couldn't you have just gotten these things from a medical supply store?"

He studied her for a beat, his eyes moving over her features before finally offering up an answer. "If I got caught stealing a few minor things then my plan to break my brother out would never have worked, Sara. Besides, I needed to go in and look around, familiarize myself with the layout. I don't exactly have the blueprints to the place tattooed on my back." Met with silence he continued, "And this way when questions are asked, nothing can be traced back to anyone."

She was stunned into silence. So he meant to go back tonight for the rest, the antibiotics; the IV bags and tubing? "Michael, if you get caught…I mean you will have to use the keycard for the drug supply cabinet…These other things you took were not under lock and key."

"It'll be fine. Do you ever take risks…chances, Doctor?" He was approaching her, his eyes alight with something new, the thrill, she had a second to think, and then he was slipping the blindfold down over her eyes.

XXXXX

The room was dark, quiet, filled with her thoughts as they bounced around the confining walls of her mind. Michael would be going soon, was maybe already there, moving along the halls of the brightly lit hospital.

Sara had no way of knowing the time, but night surely must have already fallen. It had been what seemed like hours since her last bathroom break and her dinner, another sandwich and a bottle of water was left before her.

If Michael was caught that would leave just one brother free. Fear once again filled her, controlled her thoughts.

She shuddered at the memory of Paul's leprous hands on her skin making her wish again for a shower, a way to wash off the stain of his hands, if not the memory. The memory would take the scouring of several therapists and still Sara feared her mind, her sleep would be forever tainted.

Scraping a hand through tangled hair, she sat up and leaned her back against the cold, hard wall. All she could do was wait and hope that Michael made it back safely.

Her fingers moved to the small hole in the sheet and traced the roughness of its torn edges, around and around. How many times had her fingers found this tiny imperfection only to fall away and then come right back to it like tongue to jagged tooth? Too many times to count, she knew.

Hair unwashed, still smelling of fear and sweat fell in front of her face and she left it. The room was so dark, so very empty, but full.

The sound of the key sent her head up, hair falling away and eyes riveted.

A silhouette filled the open doorway, and then his voice was echoing through the room.

"Sara."

"Michael?" Sara knew apperhension was evident in the timber of her voice, the telltale clanking of metal on metal as she shifted nervously on the cot causing the cuff to strike against its sturdy frame.

He entered the room and shut the door.

Bracing herself for the glare of light that would infest the room with a simple flick of his wrist, Sara squinted. But the darkness prevailed. This was the second time Michael had paid such a visit, clothed in shadows, and her curiosity piqued replacing her tension. Her back eased up and she felt herself relaxing, her shoulders which had instantly pressed into the hard wall at the tiny sounds of intrusion now lowering to their normal residence aligned with her spine.

The sound of her breathing moved freely in her lungs but it was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. She was waiting for Michael to speak first, she realized.

Just as he reached her, his body lowered until he was sitting on the floor, his back sliding easily against the wall beside her cot.

A beat later, "I didn't go." These three words confused Sara and yet at the same time sent a jolt of relief racing through her.

Did this mean he wasn't going tonight at all? Her answer came in low tones, treading on darkness. "I can get the things we need tomorrow night when I break my brother out of there. Using the key cards twice…" His next words were spoken as if difficult for him to voice, "It would be stupid to take that kind of risk twice."

He was telling her she was right, Sara realized.

"I'm…I'm glad. For what its worth, I think you made the right decision, Michael…I mean getting your brother out of there is the most important thing right now."

Silence filled the room and then lower, almost whispered, pain inflicted words, "I was going to risk it…everything…again…" More silence, but then his voice growing in volume, "It's my fault that he's there, that he was in prison in the first place." Michael's hands came up to cup his head in a tight grip that looked painful even in the cloak of darkness.

He was hurting, she knew. Blaming himself for his brother's crimes…His injury...but why?

Sara remembered the gleam in Michael's eyes, his confession convincing her she was right in her earlier assessment of the thrill she had seen shining brightly within his fevered blue orbs as he spoke of the midnight heist. Michael was an addict. He was backing out of the night's excursions for Lincoln. He wanted to do this, craved it most likely but the love of his brother outshone the need of his addiction.

But how was Lincoln's incarceration his fault? Michael had done nothing but help his brother from where Sara was standing. He was still helping him. My God, who else would go to such extremes to ensure Lincoln's freedom, his safety?

"Michael, you're not to blame for Lincoln's... actions, you can't take this burden on yourself…"

Scalding blue eyes shot up locking in her coppery depths. "I did this! My gambling…" He was fighting for control, his hands at his sides now, clenched fists digging into the floor.

Fear reared up and Sara instinctively moved back, but she really didn't think Michael would strike out at her. His anger seemed directed at himself.

Suddenly he was on his feet and moving to the door.

Moments later Sara was left alone, with only the sound of her racing heart to fill the darkness. 


	16. Chapter 16

(Haywire)

"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty…" Charles' fingers moved over the small white pills, some lopsided, diminished in size, erosion from the sweat and oils, the constant exposure of his fingers having worn at the edges as he maneuvered the abacus of loose 'beads' to form the equations that occupied his ever moving mind.

But this wasn't why Charles kept the pills he refused to swallow, the invisable handcuffs that locked up his mind, thus locking out Holland. He was saving the pills, hoping they would come to some use in his 'escape'. The escape plan was top secret, and he didn't like to think about it too much while 'they' were awake. He would only think of it when the floor was quiet, when the sole nurse on duty was sure to be engrossed in her soaps on the soap opera network in the patient's lounge. And right about now Nurse Griffin would be halfway through General Hospital. It was safe.

Charles gathered the small pills and shoved them in a pocket, his mind moving fast as he went over the particulars of the escape until he was there, well only in his mind but, still…Holland.

His wide eyes glazed over, the images of a sailboat filling his head, the most serene waters flowing out behind him, leaving Charles with a calm his restless mind rarely felt.

The air pressure in the room changed, a subtle whoosh, but his trained ears picked it up drawing him back into the dimly lit room.

Wide eyes shot to the door, heartbeat quickening. They never checked up on him this late! Had someone heard his thoughts? Were they on to him?

Whitened knuckles clenched in preparation as the doctor pushed open the door, sending the lights glaring overhead. And it was a white coat, but one Charles had never seen before.

"Hello, Charles. I'm Dr. Morgan."

Charles eyed the man suspiciously, his hand moving protectively to the pocket containing the small white pills. The doctor would find them, and then what? "Dr. Morgan? I don't know a Dr. Morgan."

"That's because I'm not really a doctor, but shhh…Don't tell anyone, okay? It's our secret."

Charles was intrigued, but his suspicion was still reflected in his eyes. "If you're not a doctor then what are you really, and why are you here, why is it a secret?"

The doctor who wasn't a doctor moved into the room, and pushed the door closed. Charles' eyes moved over the moustache and beard, the white coat with the keycards peeking out. If only he could get hold of one of those...

"I was sent here to help you Charles. To help all of you, that is if you want my help?" Met with silence, Dr. Morgan continued, "I can get you out of here. All you have to do is take this card I borrowed from the nurse's station." Dr. Morgan pulled out a keycard, his long fingers holding it up for Charles to see. Was this a trick? Charles moved closer, his curiosity on high.

"Why do you want to help me...us?"

The Doctor shook his head, "Do you want the card or not Charles?" When he got no response he began to back up to the door until his hand came into contact with the handle. The doctor was about to disappear as quickly as he had appeared Charles realized. It was now or never. Trust him or not, the doctor did hold the key. This could be his chance. He could be throwing away his chance at freedom…At Holland! Anxiety surged through him, spurring him on, "Wait! I want it…I want the card!"

A smile lit the doctor's features and his hand fell away. "Okay, then, Charles, listen closely to what I want you to do for me. You do me a small favor and freedom is yours, deal?"

Charles nodded, his halo of frizzy curls bouncing with enthusiasm. He could practically taste the ocean breeze of freedom!

XXXXX

"Let everyone out and show them to the third floor, that's it?" Charles was suspicious again. Why did this 'doctor' need everyone on the third floor, why was it so important?

"That's it, Charles. A fair trade for your freedom, don't you think?" The doctor tapped the keycard with his finger, the small sound of hard nails on plastic filling the room.

Nodding, Charles reached for the card and to his amazement the doctor released it to his engulfing grip. A moment later they were outside Charles room, in the hall of many doors where the doctor stooped to retrieve his bag.

Suspicion reared. If he wasn't doctor, why did he have a bag? "What's in the bag?"

"Medicine, the bad kind," Dr. Morgan said in a conspiratorial tone, low and whispery.

Charles' eyes widened further. "You're taking the handcuffs…The invisible handcuffs…"

"That's right. I'm taking them all, Charles, all of the handcuffs. Now, you had better get going. You have a lot of doors to open."

Nodding, wiry hair dancing in the overhead fluorescents, Charles moved to the first door and slid the key into the slot. A whoosh of air met him as he pushed open the door, sending the lights glaring to life and his fellow 'inmate' groggily awake. "You're free!" Charles urged and then he was on to the next door, and the next...

A few minutes later all of the doors stood wide open. Charles looked down the hall. Several 'inmates' were wandering tthe strip of shiny linoleum but the doctor was gone.

"Come on, we need to get to the third floor!" To Charles' surprise most of them followed, piling into the elevator behind him.

The elevator stopped and once the 'inmates' were out, Charles pushed the button sending the door shut. He was now alone. His part of the deal was complete. This was where they parted ways. After all, he did have a boat to catch. A huge grin surfacing, he pushed the button for the lobby, and the floor began to move under his feet. But instead of continuing downward it stopped on the second floor, the doors sliding open to allow the small group of people to enter as he quickly ducked out. He couldn't be seen, it was important that he not raise suspicion and a grown man wearing bright orange Dukes of Hazzard pajamas would certainly raise a red flag.

Now, if he could only find some street clothes, anything.

Nosing along the hall, he stopped, his back pressing tightly against the wall at the sound of approaching footfalls. A whoosh of air left his tight lungs as the guard sailed right passed him and then Charles was moving again. His eyes landed on the open door, the guard's station? Maybe there were lockers, a change of clothes? Slipping inside, he closed the door behind him and turned around, his eyes instantly growing wide.

The six television monitors were all in a row. Charles flipped the lock on the door and moved closer, eyes riveted as the pictures on the monitors changed, switching cameras, with each one set at a different angle, showing different areas of the hospital corridors. Each screen was labeled with the floor number. This particular guard station was apparently equipped to cover the first six floors only.

Charles slid out the chair and sat down. His eyes shot to movement on the screen. He could see the doctor moving along this very floor. Reaching for a button marked 'still camera', he pushed it. The picture stayed on the screen, no longer switching to another camera angle aimed at another hallway.

Watching closely now he settled in, his hand going automatically to the open bag of cheese curls on the desk in front of him, the guard on duty's snack, no doubt.

The guard, where was he? Charles scanned the screens, his eyes landing on the third floor. He watched as the same guard that had raced passed him in the hall chased after one of his fellow 'inmates', only to be alluded when the inmate slipped into a room and presumably locked the door.

The guard twisted at the knob briefly, and then giving up, he brought his walkie talkie to his lips, to call for back up no doubt. Safe in the assumption that all guards on duty would be on the third floor soon enough, Charles let his eyes wander back to the screen canvassing the second floor.

He watched as Dr. Morgan opened a door and slipped inside. Something about the doctor fascinated Charles and he didn't know why. But anyone who would strive to clean the hospital of the drugs that numbed, the handcuffs that bound his mind into a vast nothingness, couldn't be all bad.

And even better, Dr. Morgan had given him the key to freedom.

A few minutes later the doctor stepped back out into the hall and began walking at a brisk pace. Charles sat forward, his hand shooting to the controls to try to change the screen to another angle, to follow the doctor from one scene to the next.

He pressed buttons, three to be exact, and to his amazement one of them worked. The doctor was making his way along another empty hallway. When he rounded the corner, Charles followed along with the flip of another button. He was getting the hang of this. The doctor stopped and his eyes moved along the long hallway.

But this one wasn't empty.

Charles watched as the man in the black suit stood up and approached the doctor.

Men in black! There was only one thing worse then the men in white coats and it was the men in black! They had taken him away that night! They were the reason he was here!

Heart pounding, Charles watched, his fingers no longer seeking the cheese curls, but moving silently to his pocket in search of his 'beads'. His sticky fingers played over them nervously as the two characters on the screen began to speak. Not that he could hear them, the screens were silent. Oh, how he wished this was in surround sound!

What were they saying? What if the man in black looked into the doctor's bag? Would the doctor tell the man about him? That he had given him the key? He had to know what they were saying!

Pushing away from the desk, Charles' eyes landed on a half eaten apple with a knife sticking out of it. Fingers stained orange, matching his pajamas perfectly, thanks to the many cheese curls that he had eaten, he grabbed the knife, and with a yank it was free in his hand.

Slipping into the hall, Charles made his way silently around the corner. As dumb luck would have it, it was 'the' corner. Halting in his tracks he ducked back and then peeked around the corner waiting.

He watched as the man in black reached out, putting his hand on Dr. Morgan's arm. More words were spoken and this time Charles could hear them, "I think you should come with me, doctor."

Charles' grip tightened on the knife, pressing it against the wall at his side, his knuckles turning white as he held his breath, awaiting an answer.

"I think you're making a big mistake Agent, I work here." The doctor explained.

And then all hell broke loose. Charles' eyes widened as the doctor slammed his fist into the man in black's stomach, followed by a quick shot to the jaw sending the doubled over man up and against the wall, his gun scattering to the floor.

The doctor, not waiting for the stunned man to react brought out a gun from beneath his white jacket. Was the doctor going to shoot the man in black?

Charles' wide eyes darted, blinking profusely, as the doctor's arm swung the gun up and arced down, but all went black before he saw the impact.

Charles felt nothing as his hand released its death grip on the small knife and his body floated to the floor with a heavy thump.

(Mahone)

Special Agent Mahone sipped at his coffee and lowered the cup. So far the HT had not contacted them and this was a cause for concern. It had been too long, the hostage was dead. Every bone in his body should be screaming this, if past experience had taught him anything, but still he found himself making reassurances to the Governor that there would be contact.

Steely eyes moved to the contact phone, sitting deadly still in its position next to him, easily within reach.

"Ring, damn it!" his voice seethed out of him in a calloused whisper honed of frustration and guilt, guilt at his failure.

This case should have been over, finished by now and maybe it was, if Sara was dead?

The phone mocked his silent question with a silence of its own and Mahone fought the urge to wrap a steel grip around it and throw it to its death, slamming it against the file cabinets, anything that would end this silent sentinel. "Ring damn, you!"

Again he tried to picture his HT on a boat, a plane, getting the hell out of Dodge, but something in Alex's gut told him differently. "Where are you Scofield, and what are you thinking?"

"Sir?"

Alex's eyes shot from the contact phone to the young agent now standing in front of his desk. Reaching for his pen he snatched it up, his fingers moving along its smoothness. "Yes, Agent?"

"Sir, there was a report from the hospital where Burrows is being treated?" The agent sounded nervous. "It could be nothing, Sir, but you said if anything out of the ordinary were to…"

"Just spit it out, Agent. Just tell me the information." Mahone was tired of this, tired of it all. His agitation growing he waited for the agent to continue.

"Ah, well, Sir the report came in a few minutes ago. There seems to be a…a problem in the psychiatric ward. Some patients are missing."

"Missing? As in gone?" Mahone scraped a hand through his hair, his "why must I suffer this" look in place.

"Yes, Sir, missing...ah gone. But that's not all, Sir, and this probably is nothing, but there was a goof up, some kind of technical problem tonight with someone's keycard."

"A keycard?" Mahone was now standing. "What exactly did they tell you?" His temples were pounding with adrenaline, with knowing.

"Ah, well, Sir it was a mix up. A Dr. Morgan used a keycard somewhere within the building, but…"

"Dr. Morgan? Why am I interested in Dr. Morgan and his keycard, Agent?"

"Sir, Dr. Morgan passed away three years ago…"

Mahone was shoving passed him. "Get the agent at the hospital on the line…Now! Tell him to be on the look out for anything, anyone out of the ordinary, anything suspicious. And then round up a team and have them meet me at the hospital."

Yes, Sir, I'm on my way Sir!"

This was it. This was why they hadn't heard from Scofield?

That son of a bitch was breaking his brother out!

XXXXX

They had tried several times to reach the agent on duty via his cell phone, to no avail and this had only compounded Mahone's belief that something was afoot. Scofield was up to something.

Agent Bauer was no where to be seen as Mahone rushed along the brightly lit hallway, his long legs taking him closer to the lone chair sitting outside the door of Lincoln Burrow's private hospital room.

Mahone reached the door, his breath coming fast despite the rigorous fitness routines he devoutly followed.

He was pushing through the door as the other, younger agents caught up to him, and followed him into the room.

Upon entering their ears were met with the familiar blip, blip, of the heart monitor and Mahone felt himself relax. The sight of the blanket clad legs also helped to relieve his anxiety. But why was the privacy curtain drawn? Was this normal procedure?

His question was soon answered as the thought to be immobile man in the bed moved, a bright orange leg poking out from beneath the blankets, followed by a quiet moan.

Long fingers reached to grasp the curtain then, and yanked it along its track, the sound deafening in the quiet room.

Mahone fell back his eyes narrowing as a man with wild hair sat up rubbing his head with orange stained fingers, a look of confusion evident in his usually sleepless, wide eyes.

"Ah, hell," Mahone heard from somewhere behind him, but his eyes were fixated on the bright orange Dukes of Hazzard pajamas, on the faces of Bo and Luke Duke, two brother's who had once given the law the slip every Friday night before the eyes of thousands of American television viewers.


	17. Chapter 17

The light was on. Not that it was keeping her awake. Sara was pretty certain sleep would have eluded her regardless. Michael would be back from the hospital soon, if he was coming back, if he hadn't been caught in the escape attempt that would free his brother Lincoln.

And if he was captured, what then, would it then free his brother Paul, allowing him to finish what he had started? A shiver passed through Sara at the thought and she shifted her weight on the small cot.

Once again her eyes were drawn to the bare light bulb where her concentrated stare would be rewarded with watery eyes and an aura that would spot her vision for several moments. But it was her only distraction amongst the four barren walls. This was a game Sara had been playing as the time ticked silently on, as she waited for what would come next.

What was next? This was the question that haunted her, the real thief of sleep.

The door would open and the answer would walk into the room, soon enough. If it was Michael she had a chance, if it was Paul…

The key in the lock drew Sara's eyes and she held her breath without moving. There was little she could do handcuffed to the cot frame and she knew it. There was no option to run, not this time.

Chest tight, she waited, her body having gone rigid with fear in the few seconds that seemed endless before the door was moving inward and Michael walked into the room.

Her breath rushed out of her then and she sat up quickly. Had she ever been so happy to see someone? This feeling, in this place, felt so out of place to Sara but she could not deny that this moment of relief for her own safety was laced with relief that what, Michael was okay? Not once had she thought of his safety until now. Until seeing him, Sara had only considered the 'what ifs' in regards to her own safety, her own survival.

Not given much time to think, Sara watched as Michael moved through the room and without a word slid the key in the small lock of the cuff on her wrist.

"He needs you. Come on, Sara."

Sara stumbled to her feet and then Michael was herding her out of the room and into the dark hallway.

XXXXX

They were halfway down the hall when Sara realized Michael hadn't insisted on a blindfold. Not that she could see much outside her room; if not for the glow from beneath the door she was being herded along to it would be black as pitch in the windowless hall.

She could feel the tips of Michael's fingers in the middle of her back, their pressure implying urgency more then anything. There was certainly nothing rough in his handling of her, if anything it could be considered almost gentle but she jumped all the same when his hand shot over her shoulder to press his palm into the solid door before them.

Sara's guess that this was the same room she had entered the day before was proven correct as she entered ahead of Michael, but this time the bed was not empty. Freezing at the sight of him, Sara looked on the large man, seemingly small in the queen sized bed that would aid him in his recovery.

"The doctor is in the house!"

Jumping at his voice, Sara's head shot to the corner of the room, her body instantly moving backwards until she bumped into Michael, only to jump away, her back now to the only brother in the room she felt she could fully trust, the unconscious one.

Paul was sitting in a small comfy chair, but when her eyes hit him he stood to his full menacing height.

Sara's eyes darted from Paul to Michael and back, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Why was he here? But Sara was fairly sure of the answer; Lincoln was Paul's brother too. A likely reason but somehow Sara doubted Paul's sincerity, maybe because of the smirk on his face where Michael's held only concern?

"Paul, why don't you wait outside?"

Paul's smirk fell away to be replaced by a look of incredulity, "Wait outside? Fuck that, Michael, I didn't hear, "Paul wait outside" when I risked my ass at the hospital. And I sure as hell didn't hear it when I was taking out your friend in the bright orange jammies!

"I said wait outside!" Michael's voice rose and Sara cringed. She hadn't realized she was backing up again until her butt hit the bed behind her making her jump.

But Paul stood his ground. "I'm tired of this shit! I'm an equal partner in this, Michael! I'm risking just as much as you are here!"

"You're making the doctor nervous, Paul. Now go." Michael's voice was much calmer this time, but somehow more menacing and Sara was not alone in her analysis. Paul having picked up on his brother's tone moved towards the door, most likely biting back another sarcastic barb that was aching to come out.

Sara trailed Paul until he was through the door and her coppery eyes were met with slammed hardwood where his tense shoulders had once filled her line of vision.

She would never feel comfortable enough to work around that man and she was thankful that Michael didn't expect her to.

Standing for a moment as if paralized, Sara shook herself, and then she was moving, her hand coming up to tuck a strand or hair behind her ear, "I…I need to hook Lincoln up to an IV drip that will administer the antibiotics, but first I want to examine him. I need to make sure his sutures didn't rip open when you moved him. I'll also need to clean and redress the wounds.…" Sara turned to see Michael shrugging out of the white coat, part of his disguise as a doctor.

His eyes met hers briefly before slipping away, and then he was tossing the coat to her. "Here, you should put this on."

Sara's eyes traveled over the blood stained sleeves of the shirt Michael had given to her after her own shirt was torn open and she nodded. "I should wash my hands, but if we have hand sanitizer that will probably be okay under the gloves."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we have some of that." Michael moved to the box of supplies and started rifling through it. "Bingo," Sara's head shot up from buttoning the jacket. The word Bingo somehow not what one would expect from their abductor drawing her eyebrows up in surprise. He tossed the small bottle to her and continued his search.

"You know I could ah, I could use some help if you don't mind. I may have to lift him a little depending on where his wounds are located."

Her hands were shaking slightly as she pumped out a generous amount of hand sanitizer and started rubbing it over them.

He hesitated, but for a second, "No, I don't mind."

"Okay then, we should probably get started."

XXXXX

The flimsy hospital issue gown wasn't tied as Sara had suspected, but merely tucked around Lincoln's body. When she pulled on the thin material it slid easily from beneath him. There was no modesty in a hospital and she was not shocked by his complete nudity beneath the thin garment. The bandages that covered a good portion of his right upper abdomen concealed very little.

"Do you remember if there were any more wounds…bandages, on his back maybe?" Looking up from her patient, Sara found Michael's eyes riveted to the white gauze dressing, "Michael?"

She was wondering if he had even heard her when his voice came out low, but steady, "Yeah, yes, on his back, the right side, I think."

"Okay, then I'll need to take care of that one first. That way I'll know if we open a suture from moving him… Michael?"

His eyes snapped to her face. "What do you need me to do?"

Sara studied him for a moment wondering if it would be more helpful if he were to simply step aside and let her work alone. She knew that the sight of an injured loved one was enough to send many a strong man into a faint, but Michael didn't look ill and she needed someone to help her lift Lincoln, she couldn't do this alone.

"I need you to lift him so that I can get to the bandages on his back. I'm going to remove the old dressing and look for any sutures that may have been torn open in the…the move from the hospital. If everything is fine I'll go ahead and clean the sight and redress it, okay?"

He nodded, "Yeah, okay."

"You'll need to use some of that hand sanitizer and glove up. Why don't you start with that while I get a tray ready?"

Michael nodded and moved away. Sara was hoping this task would help him, that giving Michael something to do would ground him. She could hear him working quietly behind her as she tore open supplies and set them on the small tray located on a table beside the bed.

"You ready?"

Sara jumped at his close voice behind her, her eyes going closed for a moment to steady her racing heart. And then she tore open the last package. "Yes."

Turning to Michael, she instructed him to carefully lift his brother onto his left side. Sara watched as he gently placed his gloved hands on Lincoln and eased the larger man up so that she could see the bandage. "Make sure you have a firm hold on him, Michael, don't let him drop back down. Ready?"

He nodded.

Sara could feel Michael's eyes on her as she worked but she ignored him. She was quick and efficient in her skills as a doctor and soon she was instructing Michael to lower her patient back down onto the bed.

"Now for this one," Sara removed the larger bandage and inspected the sutures finding them intact. After a quick cleaning, she placed new gauze bandages over the incision and gently taped them down.

She was reaching to pull the thin gown back down over the now goose pimpled flesh when Michael stopped her. "He's cold?" His voice was reminecent of their time locked away together, so unsure. But his eyes were still with her, delving deeply into Sara's as if seeking an answer there.

Reaching a gloved hand, she took his arm and led him to the small comfy chair.

"His body is reacting to the temperature changes, Michael, I don't think your brother is feeling any discomfort or pain." Michael nodded and sat down as she had hoped he might, allowing her to tuck the gown back down around Lincoln and adjust the blankets.

"Now I just need to set up an IV and get his meds going. Once that is taken care of we can let him rest." What she really meant was that Michael could rest, but she was still so unsure of how much she could get away with.

Still, she couldn't risk losing Michael again.

Sara knew with a certainty that Paul was outside that door, just waiting for such an opportunity.

XXXXX

Sara worked quickly, the IV line going in with ease. She hadn't set one up in some time, this was mostly a job for the nurse on duty, but she supposed there were some things you never forgot, and this was one of them.

Finishing up, she gathered all of the packaging and balled it together. She was stalling and she knew it. Michael had been so quiet behind her and Sara was afraid of what she might find when she turned around. But she couldn't put it off any longer; she had to know what she was dealing with here.

Turning around she wasn't surprised to see Michael exactly as she had left him, setting on the edge of the chair, his elbows resting on his knees, gloved hands dangling between them. He was staring at his brother who was now resting comfortably behind her.

Moving slowly, Sara approached him, "Michael?" When she got no answer she scooted down in front of him hoping to establish eye contact.

"I'm okay," his eyes came level with Sara's, "I'm okay, Sara."

"Okay, Michael, I was just, I was worried about you."

"You shouldn't be." He stood up and pulled the gloves from his hands, tossing them aside. "Are we done here?"

Sara nodded, "Yes, yes we are. It's important that Lincoln rest now. His IV will need to be checked and a new bag set up when this one is empty, but that will take a little while. And of course he should be checked on frequently. I could ah, I could stay with him if you like?"

" That won't be necessary, Sara. Let's go."

Sara quickly unbuttoned the white coat and slid it from her shoulders. Not bothering to fold it, she handed it to Michael.

Moments later she was back shackled to her cot, her sleepless eyes staring into the darkness of the ceiling. 


	18. Chapter 18

"Bring her in." Mahone rubbed a tired hand over his face as he paced. 

�

So far he had spoken to Agent Bauer, who thanks to the aid of smelling salts had finally come to only to confirm what he already knew. Scofield was behind this. The agent had admitted to mistaking the HT for a doctor after being forced to watch his own humiliating defeat.

Admittedly from the surveillance camera footage of the exchange, Scofield's disguise was a good one, but Mahone knew it would never have fooled him, not even for a second. 

Alex had also spoken to the guard on duty. To be exact, the guard in charge of watching the freaks on TV, to make sure they were all behaving in Psych. ward. His claim that he was just sitting there doing his job when someone snuck up on him was said with such dread and a shifting of eyes that Mahone had known instantly the man was lying. 

�

It hadn't taken much to get the truth out of him. Mahone was very intimidating when he needed to be and the man had soon spilled the truth. Scofield had snuck up on him alright, but while reading a girlie mag. The next he knew he was waking up bound and gagged with a headache that wouldn't quit. 

�

Charles "Haywire" Potashek had been a huge waste of time. His mumbling about the doctor who wasn't a doctor and the men in black as his eyes darted from one dark suit to the next had pretty much proven he was useless. He was now back in his room, hopefully sleeping the sleep of the heavily drugged.

�

Now Mahone was waiting for Nurse Griffin to be brought in. Not that he expected to learn much from the woman. She had been found tied to a chair, duct tape covering her lips, in front of her soaps. 

�

Apparently she had left the nurse's lounge and was moving along the hall on her way to use the bathroom when Scofield grabbed her. Unlike the others, Nurse Griffin had not been harmed. Scofield had forced her to give him her keycard and it had since been learned that said keycard was how all of the patients in psych ward had gotten out. 

�

�

Good ole useless Haywire was caught on tape doing the devil's bidding in bright glowing orange pajamas. 

�

Scofield was a smart one alright. 

�

The bitter taste of the coffee he had recently gulped was suddenly over powered by an acidic burn that rose up in his throat and Mahone swallowed it down. 

�

His cell phone rang and he snatched it up, 'Governor Tancredi' was displayed along the small screen. "Mahone," he listened as the Governor's anxious voice filled the line and then explained the situation as best he could. There was a brief moment of silence before the Governor's voice blasted out at him, belittling him for his ineptitude. 

�

Telling himself to keep his cool, Alex gripped his pen, listening, waiting until the man was through with his tirade before attempting to continue. "Governor, he won't kill her. If this tells us anything, it's that Scofield needs Sara. He needs a doctor for his brother and your daughter is it." Mahone was certain of this and as he spoke, he did more then convince the governor, he convinced himself. 

�

Scofield was smart, he would use his resources. Why bring in a doctor when you already had one at your disposal? 

�

A few words more and he was flipping his cell phone closed. He would speak to Nurse Griffin and then head back to the Governor's office. He had no idea what his next step would be, but this was not over, not by a long shot.

XXXXX

�

The shower washed over her, its smooth fingers erasing Paul's touch, or so her tired mind insisted. It was washing the stench of him from her body, the imprint of each oily digit, but the hot water had only reddened the many fading bruises, his hand prints on her fair skin, but what of the bruises on her mind? Those hadn't been washed away, nor were they faded by this feeble attempt. Sara's nightmares could attest to this. 

�

Still she relished in the flow of hot water on her aching limbs, the heat easing the stiffness in her joints as she ran her hands up through her hair rinsing the shampoo away. 

�

She closed her eyes as the suds flowed over her tired features, the rivulets rolling passed her lips and down her neck to travel her curves to the stained tiled floor of the shower stall. Not luxury accommodations, not by far, but no five star hotel had ever been appreciated more then this cracked tiled enclosure.

�

When Michael came for her that morning it was with a stack of new clothing, and though they were a little on the large side, Sara had gladly accepted them. 

�

He was halfway out the door when she had summoned the courage to ask if she could shower. She remembered now how he had paused, his back to her, and then without turning around. "If you were to try anything Sara…" 

�

"I won't, I swear Michael, I just, I need to…" she had lost her voice then, unable to explain to him why it was so important to her aside from the fact she had been days without a shower. 

�

Turning, his eyes had met hers knowingly and then he nodded. "Come on." 

�

Michael had left her hands free so she could change and she moved quickly to him before he could change his mind. 

�

"Fifteen minutes, Sara and then I'll be coming in," this was spoken with a seriousness that left her with little doubt he meant what he said. And then she was alone in the small windowless haven, a haven because the heat that filled her bones now offered a false sense of normalcy she was reluctant to part with. But part with it she must. Michael had said fifteen minutes and she knew her time was running out. 

�

Reaching to shut off the flow of water Sara's fingers wrapped around the slippery handles. Soon she was standing in the shower stall, the sound of the faulty faucet's intermittent dripping alone in its song in the otherwise silent enclosure. 

�

Pausing for a moment, Sara closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the smooth, cool tiles as she fought the overwhelming weight of inadequacies that rushed in at her. She could do this. She could fix Lincoln Burrows, she would heal him. She was a doctor, a damn good one! 

�

She stood there breathing deep breaths as the seconds ticked away, her red tresses dripping coldly down her back now as the water that clung to her body cooled, as the hot tears fell down her cheeks in a scalding dance. It was only his voice in her head that got her moving, "Fifteen minutes, Sara…" 

�

She swiped at her tears and the snot that had collected above her top lip, and then stepped out of the stall. She was wrapping a towel around her body when he knocked. A moment later, his pale blue eyes were locking with hers. 

�

Sara felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart beat escalate as his eyes left hers to move over her near nude form and then he was backing out the door he had yet to fully enter.

�

"Get dressed." 

�

Sara let out her breath when the door closed. She was alone again. Not wasting any time, she dried quickly and then pulled on the new clothing. As suspected the t-shirt and sweat pants were too large, but at least the pants had a draw string. 

�

Securing it tightly she moved to the door, her hesitant fist coming up to knock a signal that she was finished, that he could come back in, and then he was opening the door. 

�

"Come on." His eyes never strayed from her face as she moved passed him to exit the bathroom.

�

Fingertips guiding, he led her along the hall to Lincoln's room.

�

He had come for her only once in the night, to check on his brother and change his IV bag, before ushering her back to her cot to lie sleepless, to await the morning. 

�

Sara entered the room now, a breath ahead of Michael, her eyes quickly scanning the room for Paul. But aside from the silent form on the bed, the room was void of movement, or life. 

�

Satisfied that they were alone, Sara relaxed, her eyes taking in the new supplies that littered the room. Where had these things come from, the portable defibrillator, the stethoscope? All of these things were new to her eyes, at least in this environment. 

�

"I took this stuff from the ambulance we 'borrowed' to get Lincoln here," Michael answered her silent questions as easily as if she had voiced them. 

�

Moving silently to the bed, Sara ran her fingers over the portable heart rate monitor that was silently awaiting instruction. Moving with skill, she set it up, her eyes scanning the wall for an electrical outlet. Spotting one beside the bed she stooped to plug the machine in by its cord. The battery pack would not last long enough for the duration the machine was needed for. 

�

When everything was set up, Sara clipped the lead to Lincoln's left pointer finger and adjusted the dials until the sound levels were to her liking. The sound of his heart, the smooth blip, blip, blip, filled the room and then she was turning to Michael. 

�

"This will be the best way to monitor him, especially during the night. The alarm will go off if Lincoln...if he arrests." Her eyes darted away as she voiced this last, as if somehow saying it were to chance a jinx, daring the Gods to make it so. 

�

When this got no response, Sara moved to the box of supplies on the floor. There were suture kits, vials and syringes, along with various other items. They were fully stocked. 

�

"We need to clean his wounds and change his dressings again." Met with silence, Sara looked up to see Michael standing at his brother's side, his head dipped low as he looked upon Lincoln. 

�

She watched the two brothers for a moment and then, "You know they say that when someone is…they can hear you when…Studies have shown that it helps if a loved one talks to someone who is…in your brother's condition." Sara stumbled through this sentence in an unprofessional manner, but then most doctors were not met with the challenges she had endured the last few days and giving Michael advice of any kind was still something she was not comfortable doing. 

�

His eyes lifted to meet hers, the briefest of emotions leaving them, seen as they fled so quickly she was left with doubt, with wonder at their existence, of the trickery of tired eyes and muted lighting. But no, she had seen it. She had seen something, regret, anguish, a deep exhaustion, the usual fire in his eyes diminished, dimmed to the low voltage of blue heat that told her he was still with her, but also in a more painful place, one he seldom visited without taking up full residence. 

�

"You should talk to him, Michael. Give him a reason to fight," she continued with barely a warble in her warm tones now. She was waiting for a response, but as the time ticked away, measured out in blips from the heart monitor, Sara let her eyes drop away, to fall on her hands as she struggled into the cool latex that would soon sheath them. 

�

She could still feel his eyes, the intensity of them on her as she moved to the bed. It was only when she was standing directly across from him that she dared to look up and into the pools of heat that awaited her. 

�

"Let's just get to work." 

�

Nodding, Sara let it go, her eyes once again falling away to land on the rising chest of the man she was banking everything on. His life was her life and she knew this. 

�

They worked in silence then, with Michael more 'there' then his previous attempt at assisting her. In fact his eyes were very alert and Sara guessed he was becoming accustomed to his role as care giver to his older brother.

�

When they were finished with the smaller wound on Lincoln's back, Michael lowered him gently back onto the bed and then stood watching as Sara cleansed and dressed the larger wound on Lincoln's upper abdomen. 

�

When the dressing was complete she was careful to arrange the gown down around his body before pulling the blankets back up to cover him. Now all that was left was administering his meds. 

�

Sara worked quickly, the injections into the IV measured and precise. When she was finished she stepped aside, her eyes moving to Michael. 

�

"When will he wake up?" 

�

Seconds ticked away as Sara considered her options. The truth was most likely her best bet. "I don't know. I mean, I don't have access to Lincoln's chart, so I don't know the severity of his condition." A beat of silence later, "Michael it may be better that he not wake up just yet. When he wakes up…He could be in some…discomfort." She was shying away from the word pain for fear it would upset Michael. 

�

"But you can give him something for the pain, right?" His eyes reflected a hint of what she had seen pass through them earlier, "there has to be something in all of this stuff that you can give him." 

�

Sara nodded quickly, "Yes, of course." She had noticed the markings on some of the vials and several were marked Demerol. Demerol, a drug similar to Morphine was used to relieve moderate to severe pain, but it was a narcotic and was therefore addictive and should be used with caution. "Michael, your brother, does he have any known allergies? Has he ever been addicted to any drugs?" 

�

His eyes narrowed slightly but he answered the question. "No, no known allergies and no, my brother isn't an addict, Sara." The defensive tone of his voice sent her backing away though her feet remained rooted to the spot. She was only asking the questions any good doctor would ask, but this was not your average patient, nor was Michael your average bereaved family member. "I didn't mean to say that he was, Michael. I only asked because the pain killers are highly addictive…" 

�

"He's not to feel any discomfort Sara. Are we clear on that?" He cut her off mid sentence, his eyes intense. 

�

Nodding quickly, Sara stripped off her gloves. "Yes, okay, I'll keep him comfortable, Michael." 

�

Moments later he was ushering her back to her room.

�

XXXXX

�

Exhaustion had finally taken her, its fingers closing over her lids to pull her down into a dreamless abyss. It was the opening of the door that shattered through, ripping her back to harsh reality with an adrenaline infused grip. Sara bolted up, her heart racing as her eyes took in the glare of light and the blurred form that was now moving towards her. 

�

"Something's wrong. He needs you Sara. He feels so hot." Michael was speaking quickly as he released her from the cuff that held her to the small cot. 

�

Her pounding heart sped but this time for a very different reason. A sudden spike in temperature was not only dangerous but it also meant the infection in his blood was worsening, that the antibiotics weren't working as well as she had hoped. 

�

Following Michael through the hall, Sara prayed for the best. When she reached his side, she let the back of her hand fall onto Lincoln's flushed, dry forehead. He was hot. Extremely hot and if they didn't get his temperature down soon she feared damage to his brain or worse, death. 

"We have to cool him down, Michael." She was pulling the blankets from around him. "We have to cool him down…Now…I need towels and a basin of lukewarm water to sponge him off. If that doesn't work we may have to get him to the shower." 

The demanding quality of her voice sent Michael moving quickly. He was almost to the door when Lincoln started to convulse.

�

� 

"Michael!" Sara called him back as Lincoln's body began to jump and twitch on the bed. 

�

Michael was back at her side within seconds, his hands shooting out to grab at his brother. Sara stepped aside as Michael pulled his brother close, one arm wrapping protectively around Lincoln's larger frame to steady it, while the other cupped his flushed, shorn head gently. 

�

"Its okay, Bro, its okay, you're gonna be okay, I promise. You're gonna be okay. I'm here, man, I'm right here and you're gonna make it. We're gonna make it. We're going to Panama, Linc. We're gonna open that dive shop you used to talk about. Remember that? Remember what you used to say?" Michael was speaking to his brother like it was only the two of them in the room and in a way this was true. Neither brother was aware of Sara's presence. 

�

She watched from afar as the soothing tones of Michael's voice reached Lincoln, or so it seemed as his body calmed, his features relaxing under the gentle fingers of his brother as Michael stroked his shorn head with a gentleness she would never have expected from him. 

�

"You remember. I know you remember…" Lincoln had grown completely still, his breathing easing back to normal, but Michael was still holding him, still comforting him, his voice now so low that Sara could barely make out his next words. "I'm sorry, Linc, I'm so sorry…I'm such a fuck up. But I'm trying to fix it…I'm trying to make it right." 

�

Sara was reluctant to intrude, but she was afraid not to. Cooling Lincoln off overrode any fear of Michael lashing out at her. 

�

"Michael?" her voice was low and rough. Clearing it softly, Sara tried again, this time she was rewarded for her efforts by the uplifting of his shorn head. 

�

His eyes were tortured and he made no move to mask them, as if he knew the tears swimming in them would wash away any guise he attempted. 

�

"We have to cool him off," her gentle reminder. 

�

Michael stared through Sara for a moment and then pulled himself from his brother and swiped a hand over his brimming eyes. "Right, towels and water." With a quick glance in his brother's direction, Michael headed for the door. 

�

A beat later, Sara was alone with Lincoln and her confusion of thoughts.

�

XXXXX

Lincoln's temperature was down, the sponge bath having finally achieved the desired results. Her arms were sore from ringing out the towels and fatigue had set into not only her limbs but her mind as well. Sara wasn't sure how much more she could endure before she would drop in exhaustion. This was far worse then the thirty hour shifts she had once pulled at the hospital. 

�

She was easing Lincoln's arms into his gown when she saw the blood on the dressing that covered the wound on his abdomen. 

�

Donning a fresh pair of gloves, Sara then eased up the tape surrounding the bandage. He was bleeding from a small tear in his sutures. 

�

"What's wrong?" 

�

Sara's eyes shot up from the deep crimson to meet a tired blue that rivaled her own brown copper. Without waiting for an answer, Michael traveled the short distance to look down at his brother. 

�

"He's bleeding. Why is he bleeding?" His eyes didn't hold anger like she would have expected, just anxiety. 

�

"Its okay, Michael, he�must have torn open a suture or two. I can have him stitched up in a few minutes." Sara was quick to reassure. "Can you help me by opening one of those suture kits in that box over there?" She indicated the mid sized box on the floor with a tilt of her auburn head. 

�

Without�being directed�to do so, Michael slid on a pair of gloves and then did as she asked, the sound of the kit being opened joining the steady blip of the heart monitor as he tore at the packaging. 

�

Sara began by cleaning the wound gently, swiping away the blood to view the small tear. It was small but the blood was back obscuring her vision within seconds. "Michael I need you to use this gauze to staunch the flow of blood so I can see what I'm doing as I stitch him up, okay?" 

�

Michael's eyes were riveted to the oozing wound. Reaching out, Sara took his gloved hand in hers. Flipping it over, she placed the gauze pad in his palm to ground him, her fingers firm in their grip as they closed around his. 

�

His eyes met hers and their gazes locked for a brief moment and then he was nodding. "Yeah, okay, I can do that." 

�

Sara let go of his hand to prepare the kit, her hands shaking from something she had not expected as she threaded the needle, the warmth that had spread through her as she gripped his hand, as their eyes locked in their joint concentration of effort. 

�

Pushing the thought aside, she steadied her hands. Working quickly, she bent to the task; the needle tugging closed the small tear with each small, precise stitch. 

�

As Sara worked, Michael dabbed at the blood in silence. Soon she was cleaning the area and placing a fresh dressing over the wound. 

�

XXXXX

�

Lying in the silent darkness, Sara tried to let her mind go, hoping for sleep to claim her. She was too tired to think about her body's physical reactions to a man she still feared, preferring to chalk it up to her exhausted emotions. 

�

Her mind instead divided its efforts between thinking of Michael and the man she sought to save, Lincoln.

�

Watching Michael with his brother had been painful. Watching Michael comfort Lincoln had stirred something within her that she knew she should try to suppress. Did she really want to sympathize with her captor, to understand why she was shackled to this cot? 

�

In the few short days she had been with him she had seen the many sides of Michael and this last one had shown her more of the side he usually kept buried beneath his cold veneer. 

�

Scraping a hand over her face, Sara closed her eyes to the darkness trying once more to shut out her thoughts but they were like a persistent visitor who ceaselessly continued to knock despite the darkened windows that claimed no one was home. Michael's love for his brother was something tangible she could feel in the air as it was sucked into her lungs making breath difficult. Sara could not deny that it was genuine.

�

And what about Lincoln, was his love just as strong? Sara had a feeling it ran just as deep, maybe deeper. The bond between the two brothers had shone brightest in its darkest hour as Michael stood clutching Lincoln. Sara knew Michael felt responsible for his brother's situation for some reason, but there was more to it then that. Lincoln could have died tonight. 

�

And if he had died, then what, would Michael have ended this? Would he have killed her himself or let Paul do it? This question was one she had asked herself many times but it was joined now by a new fear; would her knowledge of Panama alter Michael's decision to let her go when, if she was successful in healing Lincoln? Was she screwed no matter the outcome? 

�

Her tired mind tossed around her options and she recalled the way he had looked at her as she stood dripping in a towel. She had seen something there, desire, a desire that had taken her breath with what she had assumed to be fear at the time. And it had scared her no doubt, but it had not disgusted her like Paul's interest in her. 

�

Could she use this to her advantage? Could she make him want her enough to let her live? 

�

Crazy thoughts, the ones that would not leave spent haunting moments playing out behind closed lids before the final curtain call was up and Sara drifted into a restless, but all consuming sleep that took her under.

�

�


	19. Chapter 19

Three days had passed since Lincoln's seizure and Sara was hopeful that he was responding to the higher dosage of antibiotics she was administering via his IV drip. His temperature was now normal for a patient fighting septicemia and he was being kept comfortable on a low dosage of Demerol per Michael's instruction. Lincoln had yet to awaken but had taken to moaning in his sleep prompting Michael to insist on the pain killers.

She adjusted the tubing that led to the IV bag and then stripped off her gloves and moved across the room, her eyes taking in Michael. He was just as he had been since finishing his duties assisting her, his long form taking up residence in the small chair as he folded the origami crane he was working on.

Her coppery eyes were on him for mere seconds before he was looking up locking with her gaze. This was only one of the many acts of eye contact Sara had established in the past three days. She held his eyes for a brief moment and then as planned, let her lashes fall as her eyes dipped to the floor.

The silence in the room was interrupted only by the steady blip, blip of the heart monitor as she moved to the far wall and leaned against it, her tired frame reveling in the drywall that met her shoulder blades.

Oddly she found comfort in the hard, cool surface as it held her weight, almost as much comfort as she found in the daily showers Michael had come to allow. She had been surprised by this and even more so by the small bag of toiletries he had shoved into her hands that morning along with a clean change of clothes. A toothbrush had never looked so good to Sara and she had marveled at the small things she had taken for granted before her abduction.

She left this thought and her eyes came back up to find him staring at her, his blue eyes intense.

Clearing her throat she spoke the words she had planned out that morning before he came for her. "You know it's pretty amazing…What you've done for him…For Lincoln…The extremities you have gone to in order to help him…to save him…It shows how much you care for your brother…And it's a testament to your deep sense of familial obligation…I don't think anyone, not even my father would do something like that for me." Sara's eyes moved to the crane he held in his long fingers. "Isn't that what an origami crane symbolizes, familial obligation?"

Deep silence met her question, his eyes now on the folded creation as if studying his handiwork, and Sara wondered if she had finally pushed it too far, pushed Michael too far. Maybe laid it on too thick.

The last three days they had worked quietly together, only speaking when necessary, each small exchange an island of words surrounded by miles of tumultuous waves, an ocean of silence as she chanced to brush her hand against his here, to stand a little closer then necessary there, in her efforts to what, seduce him? Not exactly, but Sara wasn't sure what you would call it if not that.

Now as the silence continued, she was beginning to think maybe she should have left well enough alone, that her plan was too dangerous.

His eyes came up to lock on her face as he moved; his long frame a thing of grace as he stood to his full height.

He tossed the crane to the side and it miraculously landed upright on the small table beside the bed as he began to slowly make his way across the room.

Sara's back was no longer as comfortable against the drywall as she fought the tension that filled her. It was too late to just stand quietly, to wait for him to tell her it was time to head back to her room. Dread filled her mouth with this realization and she tried to swallow it down.

The lump caught in her throat as he drew closer, each motion of his long stride bringing him closer until he was standing just in front of her.

His eyes locked on her face. "What are you doing Sara? His voice was calm, his gaze cool. "Her eyes dipped away and his hand shot out to slap against the drywall beside her head making her jump, making her widening eyes meet his. "I asked, what you think you're doing."

"Nothing, I'm not doing anything, Michael, I just think what you're doing for your brother is, it's…"

"What kind of games are you playing, Sara?" He interrupted her, his voice still calm but slightly louder, making her eyes flutter in a series of nervous blinks as she fought to hold eye contact. She shook her head still trying to deny her guilt. "Do you think I don't know what your doing Sara?" He didn't wait for a response, "My brother Paul almost raped you and now your coming on to me?"

Holding his gaze, "You're nothing like him, your brother Paul."

"And he's nothing like me."

His words confused her and she couldn't keep the reflection of thought from showing in her eyes.

"I frighten you." This was a statement not a question and Sara knew Michael would see through anything but the truth.

"Yes, sometimes...Sometimes you frighten me, Michael, but I think I'm beginning to understand..." A beat of silence later, "There's no game, Michael, I swear there's no game…To be honest I don't know what this is, and...and I think that's what scares me the most." She held her breath as she waited for him to respond. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her temples she felt as if her skull might explode with each pulsing beat.

He was standing less then a foot from her when his other hand came up to press into the wall beside her head, blocking any thought of escape, had she been planning one.

"So what is it that you want then, Sara? Is this what you want?" He stepped closer, his body not touching hers, but he was only a breath away, his face so close she could feel his warm exhalation against her face.

Her answer stuck in her throat and Sara wasn't sure she could ease it out smoothly, so she didn't try. Instead she took in a lungful of the small dose of air between them and closed the gap, her body moving forward to press lightly against him.

She could feel the sharp intake of his breath and then his fingers moved to grip the back of her neck, gentle yet rough as if testing her.

Sara closed her eyes, forcing relaxation into lashes that wanted to clamp down tight in anticipation of his crashing lips, the almost tangible force she felt building in him, but what came next surprised her, the softness of his moist lips, the gentle brushing only accelerating when she responded with a parting of her lips to allow entry.

The taste of him flooded her mouth then and her racing heart sped faster, her fear mixing with a confusion of feelings as his tongue danced against hers. Warmth flooded through her body, evident in the flush of her cheeks as the heat grew within, each passing moment building something she could not deny as it raced through her. This was no longer pretend, and though her words to him moments before had been spoken mostly to calm him, there was a truth to them, she knew this, her body could not lie this well if she willed it.

His grip on her neck had loosened almost instantly as the kiss grew and his hand now moved to the side of her face with a light tracing of his fingertips before he pulled back to look at her. His eyes held a darkened heat as he studied her, his heightened breath reflected in the slight flaring of his nostrils with each gulp of air as he watched, as he waited.

Seconds ticked by as Sara held his gaze knowingly, and then turning her head slightly, her lips fell on his palm, sucking in the pad of flesh beneath his thumb. She could feel him against her, she knew what this was doing to him and a thrill coursed through her laced with fear and the dangerous knowledge of what she was doing, of where this might lead.

Moving her face back level with his, her eyes locked on his reddened lips and then she brought up a hand to pull his mouth to hers, her other hand pulling his body tighter against her as it slipped inside his shirt and up his strong back.

Soon she was pressed tightly to the wall, his body melded to hers, their mouths a hot fusion. The only thing rough about this exchange was the stubble that graced his cheeks as it chaffed the delicate sides of her face.

Sara's breath was raging in her chest as his hands tangled in her hair. He had yet to touch her body, but there was little room between them for such exploration.

Her heart pounded harder and she wondered briefly if he could feel it. This thought had just skated along the thin borders of her psyche when he broke away from her, his body leaving hers for the cool air to rush in on her flushed, overheated skin.

He backed away from her, the look in his eyes hard to read. Was he angry with her now? Had she done something wrong?

Her breath was panting out of her, her chest still heaving as he made his way in silence to the door. She wanted to speak out, to voice her concerns, but something held her tongue.

Seconds ticked away, the steady blip, blip of the heart monitor droning on unheard as she stood quietly in the small room.

Soon her darkened eyes would meet hard wood as he closed the door locking her in and blocking her out.


	20. Chapter 20

Sara stood for what must have been minutes, in an attempt to regain her breath and some clarity as to what had just happened. And where her breath was easy to capture, she kept coming back to the same questions with no answers in sight. Michael knew what she was up to and yet he had kissed her, he had let things escalate. She reached a hand to her reddened lips, in a subconscious gesture. Maybe he believed her when she said there was no game, that she was confused by her feelings? Or had she messed up? Was Michael angry with her and if so, what could she expect the next time he walked through the door?

Scraping a hand through her disheveled locks, Sara pushed these thoughts aside, burying them. This wasn't where her mind should be and she knew it. Her eyes skated quickly to the sole window, equally hidden behind heavy drapery. This was not the first, time she had been alone in this room, Michael had left her alone, albeit briefly, when Lincoln's temperature spiked. But now she was truly alone, Lincoln, the rooms only other occupant was oblivious to her presence in his current state.

Her mind, with the ticking of an internal clock reminded her that she was wasting precious time, that Michael could be back any minute; she really had no way of knowing. In fact, he could be just outside the door.

Racing on legs that were not quite steady, Sara made her way to the window. Shaky hands jerked aside heavy fabric in search of light, the yawn of sky her heart dared to hope for. She was met with the mar of old wood, the boards most likely taken from used lumber.

Heart falling, but still racing, not ready to give up the hope of flight, her fingers, so used to healing, risked splintered wood as they felt their way along the flat planks to the nails that held the boards in place. They were flush against the wood, the heads deeply embedded. Still, she pried at the boards, tried to ease slim fingers that were much too thick into the small gaps that separated window from wood, escape from captivity. It was hopeless and she knew it. Michael had secured the room hastily, but secure it was.

Unless…

Sara moved quickly through the room, her eyes scanning, searching for anything she might use to pry free the stubborn nails. Riffling through the box of supplies gained her nothing, but made her wince at the noise of her exploration. If Michael heard her, he would be back and if he wasn't angry, catching her in this attempt would seal the deal.

With this in mind, she carefully pulled the drawer of the table open. It was empty but for a paper back book, useless, unless she was to clobber him with it. Her eyes moved to the stethoscope resting atop the small table. Could she use the metal to gouge around the wood surrounding the nails? It could work but it would take time...time she would most likely not be afforded.

The metal was cold in her warm hands as she grabbed it up off the table and smoothed a thumb along it. How many times had she held this instrument; or one just like it in her hands, warming it for a patient? How many times had she listened to the beating of a heart, the life blood of another? Her eyes moved to Lincoln, as if having been drawn there by an invisible thread, the same thread dragging her eyes to the closed door mere breaths of a second later.

She was a healer, and though what she was thinking went against everything she stood for, it brought a beacon of hope at the end of this dark tunnel.

Dropping the stethoscope onto the table, Sara moved to the box of supplies. It took her less then a minute to load a clean syringe with enough Demerol to knock out a horse…or maybe even kill it.

XXXXX

"Soda tries to understand, at least, which is more than Darry does. But then Soda is different then anybody; he understands everything, almost. Like he's never hollering at me all the time like Darry is, or treating me as if I was six instead of fourteen. I love Soda more than I've ever loved anyone, even Mom and Dad. He's happy go lucky, always grinning, while Darry's hard and firm and rarely grins at all. But then, Darry's gone through a lot in his twenty years, grown up too fast..."

Sara's eyes lifted from the page she was reading aloud as the door opened. She could feel the capped syringe she had stashed in her bra dig into her flesh as her body tensed, as her heart sped. Michael was back. His eyes met hers for only a second before moving to the book she held in her hands.

After loading and stashing the syringe, Sara had pulled up a chair and started reading to Lincoln. She had recalled reading the S.E. Hinton book, The Outsiders, years ago, while growing up. The story was about three brothers and Sara had to wonder now, if this book was chosen for that very reason. Was Michael reading this to his brother? She suddenly felt as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn't, that maybe this was a worse crime then her earlier explorations of the secure room. Michael didn't appear to be angry.

"I was just reading to him," this was said in a low voice as if afraid she would startle a reaction from him.

"Don't stop."

Sara watched as Michael moved to the far wall and slid to a sitting position, his back resting against the drywall. She was occupying the only chair the room had to offer.

He was not looking at her, his eyes trained straight ahead, unreadable. There was a brief moment of silence in the room, broken only by the blip, blip of the heart monitor and then lifting the book and finding her spot, Sara began to read to the brothers.

"Sodapop'll never grow up at all. I don't know which way's the best. I'll find out one of these days…"

XXXXX

Back in the dark, alone with her thoughts, Sara ran her fingers over the full syringe. The time she had spent with Michael, reading, had passed with him sitting quietly. There was no way of knowing what, if anything he was thinking as she read, but Sara had a feeling the book meant something to him, somehow.

Halfway into the thin tome, Michael had simply gotten to his feet and escorted her to her room. Afraid to say anything that would alter his mood, Sara had remained silent, allowing him to leave after he shackled her to the cot.

Over an hour must have passed since then, and despite the fatigue she was feeling, Sara was wide awake with thought. She now had a weapon, a means to defend herself and this was an improvement over her situation. A weapon only if she could bring herself to use it, she reminded herself. Sara had no doubt in her ability to use the syringe were Paul to come at her again, but could she use it on Michael?

She could still feel his breath on her face, his lips. Her hair still held the tangles of his long finger's devise. Her body had reacted to him, yes, but there was more to it than just the physical, she could no longer deny this.

Scraping a hand over her tired features, Sara told herself she just needed to sleep. If she could sleep, things would be clear in the morning, she would be able to think again.

Her eyes were slipping closed as the silence in the room bled on, as minutes ticked by unaccounted for. The fingertips of sleep's release had just touched upon her tired mind, relaxing her brow, when the sound of the door opening filled her body with tension and tightened her grip on the syringe in her hand.

As Michael's features came into view, Sara moved her hand up under her body in efforts to hide the syringe.

"Michael?" Her voice sounded slightly rough from overuse, followed by hours spent in complete silence. She was not used to reading aloud for such a long period of time.

The only answer was the slight sound of denim swishing against darkness as he moved towards her, sliding down the wall to take his place beside the cot.

Sara let out a held breath, her mind instantly awake with adrenaline from her interruption of sleep. She was still subconsciously gripping the syringe in her fist and when she caught the whiff of alcohol surrounding him her grip tightened. Not that there was any sense of coming danger, in fact there was something about his actions, though cloaked in darkness, as they were, that resonated sadness.

Not really sure how or why she should have this feeling, but she did, Sara remained silent, waiting for Michael to speak first.

Minutes passed before his voice broke through the stillness, "When we were kids, me and Linc, I used to be afraid of the dark…" His voice trailed off, but she waited. A beat later he continued, "He was the only one who could get through to me. The only one I really believed. If he said it, it had to be so, you know?"

Sara nodded into the darkness and his eyes flitted to her face, the shadows hiding what if anything his eyes might reflect. His voice began to slur, "Then when everything fell apart, when she killed herself, they took him from me." Despite the alcohol that was fueling this confession, there was a strange fatigue in his voice that hit Sara square in the chest. She could only assume he was talking about his mother.

"Michael…I'm so sorry…"

He continued as if he hadn't heard her, almost as if she wasn't there. "There was this one time. I guess I was about five; it was before we were separated. Linc told me that fear was like air, that it didn't exist. He said that monsters didn't live in closets…" More silence and then, lower, "But he was wrong about that one…some monsters are born there." This last was said with the sadness Sara had intuited, and it tore at her, but at the same time it added to her feelings of confusion.

What could he possibly mean when he said some monsters were born in closets? She remembered Paul's statement about her room being bigger than a closet and Michael's violent reaction. The scars on his body indicated abuse or maybe self mutilation…did Michael think of himself as a monster?

Sara blinked back tears as she considered the possible meaning behind his words. But the tears stuck in her throat were joined by the taste of fear as he suddenly moved towards her.

Her first reaction was to move back but she held her ground, her body staying put, as her thoughts began to bang recklessly inside her head. How was she to conceal the syringe, and what would Michael do if, when, he caught her with it?

All forward motion stopped when his head touched down on the cot beside her hand and Sara let out her breath. The silence so heavy; entered her lungs then, its presence tangible as the seconds ticked by. She could not see his face, the back of his head was the only thing kissed by the shadowy light from the small chip in the painted window as he leaned into the thin mattress.

Unsure of what was expected of her, only knowing what she wanted to do, Sara shoved the syringe beneath the edge of the mattress, and moved her hand hesitantly to his shorn head.

A beat later her fingers were moving along the planes of his scalp in her efforts to offer comfort.

Sara wasn't sure how long they stayed there like that, his body leaning into the side of the cot, as she lay comforting him. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but the silence that emanated from him was total, a complete match for the stillness of his form. She hadn't heard even a breath leave him. At some point her eyes had grown heavy, her fingers slowing in their motion until they slipped down onto the side of his neck to rest.

XXXXX

Blinking into the dark room, Sara sat up. She was alone. At some point in the night, Michael had quietly left the room. She could only assume it was her complete exhaustion that had let him escape without waking her.

Scraping a hand across her face, Sara lay back into the thin mattress. "Monsters in closets," her soft voice, rough with sleep and thirst, filled the small room.

The conversation of the night before, the events that had led up to it hit her and Sara took a deep breath. She was suddenly sure that the syringe was gone, that Michael had taken it.

Twisting around, her hand echoing her frantic thoughts, she scrabbled under the mattress and wrapped her fingers around the cool vial, her relief like a drug as it flooded through her.

Sara knew her fears were irrational at best. If Michael had found the syringe he would have done more then steal away with it quietly in the night. He would have been angry. The thought of such a confrontation with Michael filled Sara with dread. She had seen him angry and the idea of his wrath aimed in her direction scared her. Not to mention that any trust she had gained would have been lost. And she was sure he would not make the mistake of trusting her again.

And he was beginning to trust her, wasn't he? The alcohol in his system had of course played a huge role in last nights events, but it was a start. And once he had slept it off?

Sara couldn't help but wonder if his behavior would be any different. Or would he merely pretend the night hadn't happened?

As it turned out she didn't have to wait long for the answer to these questions. At the sound of the key in the lock, Sara's heart picked up speed.

Shoving the syringe back into its hiding place beneath the mattress, but still easily within reach, she sat up on the small cot.

(Mahone)

Five days had passed with no new leads and not a word from the HT's, so he shouldn't have been surprised when she walked into his office, but he was.

"Special Agent Gretchen Morgan, but I guess you already know that Agent Mahone."

"Yes, I know who you are."

"Good, then you probably know why I'm here." A slight pause for effect, "I'm here to clean up your mess, Alex."

He had heard she was brash, but the shade of her lipstick was not the only thing harsh about this woman.

Her blue eyes were like ice as she watched him finger his favorite pen. "Kirsty Notsram."

His eyes clouded at the mention of the name. And then he placed it. Sara had been abducted from a party at a friend's home, Miss Notsram was the friend. "My men spoke with Miss Notsram, it was a dead end. She saw nothing. Knows nothing"

"Well apparently she _did _see something, Agent. Apparently your men neglected to show her this photo, _oops_." She dropped the picture in front of him with purpose. "Paul Kellerman. A positive ID. It seems our HT was watching Miss Tancredi prior to her abduction."

"This information doesn't really help the case, Agent. I've said all along it was Kellerman and his brother Michael Scofield that was behind this."

"_Was_ behind this?" Agent Morgan's trim nails hit the desk in front of him, her jacket drawn tightly against her ample bosom, "I suggest that you get your…_Pen_ out of your hand Agent Mahone. This is a Governor's daughter we're talking about here. This case isn't over until we find a body."

XXXXX

She was just finishing up when she felt more then heard his presence as he moved up behind her. It was almost as if something in the air changed, alerting her senses. Her hands froze, the latex sheathing them growing moist within as her palms began to sweat, as her heart began to race.

Still she didn't turn around, she waited. He was close, the heat of him telling. The empty syringe was still in her right hand and her grip on it tightened. Despite how her body was reacting to his nearness, there was still a part of Sara that was afraid.

His fingers, just the tips, started at her elbow and moved down her wrist, to gently ease the needle from her hand. And then he was tossing it away.

Instead of stepping back, his fingers trailed more slowly this time, along her bare forearm. Sara closed her eyes, her breath visible in her chest. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck and it sent a shiver that started along her spine, to travel the length of her lithe form. She wasn't sure what to expect or how to react, how he would react if she were to respond to him.

His breath was no longer playing along her bare skin. Before Sara could miss this warm caress, she felt the pressure of his lips against her hair, almost non-existent in his gentleness. And then he was moving away making Sara wonder if she hadn't imagined the ghost of them.

"Michael?" Her voice, filling the quiet room, came out with a breathless quality.

He turned, and his eyes, so blue in their heat, a different blend than the anger she usually saw in them, regarded her from across the room.

Should she go to him? If she did, there was no going back and she knew this. This was what kept her rooted to the spot, her knuckles, almost as white as the sheet she clenched tightly in her fists as she stood with her back to the bed.

Their eyes locked as the seconds ticked away and then his gaze shifted to her lips, the need in him so evident.

Her fingers let go of the sheet in unison as her feet began to move. She saw him hesitate but then he was moving, meeting her halfway until his fingers were once again tangled through her hair, his mouth hot against her breath. Warm fingers moved to cup her face and he pulled away to meet her eyes with a smile she had yet to see from him. But as she met Michael's eyes, the smile slipped from his face, his weight growing heavier in her arms as he fell against her.

Panic filled her as she attempted to hold him, "Michael!" she lifted her eyes. It was only as he slid from her arms that she saw Paul. He was covered in blood, but the real horror was his eyes.

"I told you there are worse things than death, Sara."

Startling awake, the darkness rushed in on suddenly wide eyes as the dream evaporated on Sara's rapid breath. It was just a dream. Easing herself up, she pushed a hand through her disheveled hair and took a deep breath. Just a dream, thank God!

But it had seemed so real…

Trying to push away the remnants of fear from her dream, Sara brought the syringe out from the edge of the sheet where she had stashed it before falling asleep. She had wanted it easily within reach just incase Paul were to slip into the room unnoticed.

As she clutched her small weapon, Sara forced her thoughts to earlier that day. She forced her thoughts to Michael.

As expected, he had acted as if nothing had happened. She had been led to the shower with the same instructions as the previous day, "Fifteen minutes, Sara," followed by the closing of the bathroom door.

And Michael had been quiet too, even more so than usual. It had been fairly obvious that he was hung over. She had seen him wince more than once as he assisted her with Lincoln's care. Still, she had suspected there was more to his mood than a simple hangover. As soon as Lincoln's meds were administered he had ushered her to her room. Shortly there after, he had brought her a sandwich and a bottle of water.

Hours had to have passed since then.

Her eyes traveled through the darkness to the tray he had yet to come for. Sara felt a knot of worry form in her stomach. She had a strange feeling that something was wrong, that something had happened to him. She tried to tell herself she was being silly, that it was the dream that had planted such fears, but as seconds ticked to minutes, the feeling still lingered. Where was he?

As if in answer, a key was slid into the lock. Sara steeled herself, her grip on the syringe tightening.

When Michael entered the room, she was filled with a moment of relief, but that relief was quickly replaced by fear when he flipped on the light and she saw the blood that covered him.

Excerpts from S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders

(Chapter End Notes:)

Sorry for the cliffhanger. I hope to update soon! Thanks for the great reviews and comments guys. You are the best! 8)


	21. Chapter 21

(WARNING NC-17 CONTENT!)

"Michael…" Sara, almost forgetting the syringe she clutched tightly next to her thigh, started to rise. Not that she would have made it very far with her short tether; her wrist was still cuffed to the cot.

His hands and arm were covered in blood, the garish red, bright in the overhead light, seemingly more so to her unadjusted eyes.

He stood, a drip of blood from the fingertips of his right hand hitting the floor, a surreal sound, surreal in the fact she could actually hear the soft_ plop _as it joined the sound of the rushing of her own blood in her ears. Her spine was stiff, posture to make any mother proud, as she waited.

Time seemed to have stopped, but Sara was aware that Michael had only entered the room seconds ago. He was staring down at his arm, his eyes unreadable, detached, and yet she had the feeling he was avoiding her eyes.

Her shallow breath was barely there as she studied him anxiously.

"Michael," this time he looked up at her, his eyes, now haunted, showing a glimpse of the broken boy as he came out of hiding. Sara moved slowly, her hand coming up until her arm was outstretched to him, beckoning to him. "Come here…please, Michael. You're bleeding."

He blinked then, and his eyes shut down. She had a second to think how scary it was that she could visibly see the change in him and then he was walking towards the cot. From the looks of things the damage was to his right arm. Nothing of his injuries showed in his gait.

As he took the space beside her, Sara tucked the syringe beneath her leg and twisted her body until she was facing him.

A Tentative hand reached for him then, her fingers only becoming sure when he did not react in a negative way to her careful touch.

As gently as possible, Sara peeled the fabric of the long sleeved shirt from his arm. "You'll need to take this off, so I can see to your injuries."

She looked up from the blood soaked sleeve to find him staring at her. "I'm ok. It's nothing."

"Michael this is a lot of blood. I think I should take a look at it. I may need to stitch you up."

He was shaking his head and when he spoke there was an edge to his voice, "I said I'm ok, Sara."

She studied him for a moment, her feelings at his stubborn insistence surprising, as her anger pushed aside the fear of speaking out, "If you didn't want my help, Michael, then why are you here, to bleed all over my bed?"

Cool eyes met sparking copper, the seconds ticking on in silence.

Sara fought the urge to flinch when his hands came up, but he was only moving to comply with her demands, to pull the shirt up and over his head. She saw him wince and then the shirt was in a ball beside them.

All business now, her eyes avoided the scars on his chest and moved straight to the wound on his forearm, her soft but firm fingers examining him, "It's deep. I'll need a suture kit and something to clean this up." When he didn't answer, "Michael, unlock my cuff." After a beat, "Michael, I just want to help you…Please." Her coppery eyes waited for contact. And then he was looking at her.

"I'll get the kit," a beat later he was up and moving through the door.

XXXXX

The bloodied gauze lay at their feet, red derelicts cast aside in bright relief.

Upon Michael's return with the supplies Sara had demanded, he had released her from the cuff that held her to the small cot. She had then cleansed the wound, and disinfected it, before opening up the suture kit.

The wound, though deep, was not large, making Sara wonder if all of the blood on Michael's clothing actually belonged to him. Going by the angle of the cut, he could have inflicted the wound himself, but if so, why was it so deep? Most who self harmed knew from experience exactly where and how to cut. Most self inflicted wounds were purposely shallow and would not result in this amount of blood loss unless this was the cutter's intent. Sara had seen a few such cases on her rotation in the ER and usually it was a cry for help.

But what exactly did that say? Michael's initial reaction to her offer of help negated this behavior, but Sara wasn't really sure what to make of things. Too little sleep and the massive amount of stress she was under did not help.

Another thought also plagued her tired mind, was there another reason for Michael's injury, was there another individual out there who was wounded and bleeding, or had they simply gotten the better of Michael, and escaped unscathed? Her mind quickly turned to Paul and her dream, the dream that had been more prophetic than any REM cycle should allow.

Shaking the thought aside, Sara's eyes skated up from her task to take in Michael's features. He sat with his body ridged, his stubble peppered jaw clenched tight, and she could only imagine the pain he must be feeling, as she worked at closing the wound, her skilled fingers carefully making stitch after stitch. Michael had insisted Sara not administer anything to help ease his discomfort. It was almost as if he wanted this to hurt, and maybe he did.

As Sara continued to work, her thoughts moved to the syringe now safely tucked beneath the mattress, but this time for a very different reason. Even a small amount of the syringe's contents would have taken the edge off. Not that she could have brought the Demerol out of hiding.

Sara had taken the opportunity to stash it away in the short time Michael was away from the room. She was not ready to turn over her only weapon to him, and besides, there would be no easy explanation for having it in her possession, none that would be believed, other than the truth, and she was afraid even her fear of Paul would be taken in to question were Michael to find the needle.

The last stitch was made then and Sara tied the suture ends neatly. She then cleansed the area again, wiping away the blood with disinfectant before placing a gauze bandage over the sutures.

"That should do it. You'll need to keep it dry and change the bandages daily. There shouldn't be much of a scar." Sara winced at her words, her eyes then moving to the scars that littered his lean torso. How could she have made such a careless comment? "I'm sorry, I…" She stumbled over her words as his eyes landed with intensity on her face. Sara had the feeling her attempts at an apology had only made things worse.

Her eyes dropped down to where her hands rested in her lap, to intently study the spots of blood on her latex gloves.

"Take off the gloves, Sara." Sara looked up to see Michael already moving. He was gathering up the bloody shirt and gauze

Shaky fingers, no longer sure, stripped off the stained latex. Moments later Michael's warm fingers were encircling her wrist only to be replaced by cold steel as he slid the cuff on and tightened it.

Stepping away, he didn't look at Sara; he didn't speak. He just turned and made his way to the door.

A moment later the room was taken by darkness, and Michael was gone, as if he had never been.

XXXXX

"You're next," Sara stripped off the gloves and tossed them in the small garbage bin.

She had just administered Lincoln's meds and her no nonsense tone made Michael look up from the origami he was folding. She could feel his eyes on her but forced herself to remain in doctor mod.

Two days had passed since she had stitched him up and she had the feeling Michael was not taking care of his wound properly. The bandage covering his forearm was not the same one she had applied but he had evaded her questions earlier about how he was healing. She just hoped he was not letting it get infected.

Gathering the supplies she would need, Sara set up a tray and made her way to Michael since he seemed in no hurry to move the small distance across the room to her. Knelling in front of him, she set down her supplies. Michael was wearing short sleeves, so there was no need to ask him to remove his shirt.

"I'll just clean this and get you a new bandage, okay?"

"Okay."

Relief hit her at his compliance and she reached to remove the old bandage. "It looks good, no infection that I can see." Sara spoke as she readied a gauze pad with disinfectant.

She still wondered how Michael had come about his injury, but she had no intention of asking him. She had a feeling it would only result in cold eyes and the back of his head.

"There, that should do it." Her slim fingers patted down the tape to adhere the gauze bandage.

She was moving to stand when his fingers gently clamped down on her wrist.

Heart jumping into her throat, Sara's eyes moved from his fingers where they had instantly fallen to his eyes, where she seemed to get stuck in his blue depths. A few rapid beats of her heart later his eyes shifted just slightly to her lips.

Wanting, yet unsure, Sara waited. Was he going to kiss her, and if he did?

Her thought went unfinished as his other hand came up, the small origami in his fingers, a delicate thing; a rose.

This simple sweet gesture took her breath, and at the same time the normalcy of it was surreal. All the same, she felt the words forming on her lips, "Thank you, Michael."

As her fingers closed over his offering, his grip on her wrist loosened, his head dipped away; his eyes moving to study the new bandage on his arm as if all the answers might lie within, and maybe they did for all she knew.

And then he was up and moving passed her, but he didn't leave the room this time, as she had been expecting him to.

His actions never ceased to confuse, and this was one of those moments, sending her heart and head at war. Michael was standing quietly with his back to her, his eyes on his unconscious brother.

Should she go to him, and if so, what then?

And then she knew.

Setting the rose aside, Sara stripped off her gloves and wiped her sweaty palms along her pants in efforts to dry them. Taking the first tentative step, she forced herself to breathe. It wasn't until she was directly behind him that she mastered normal breath.

Still her heart was racing in her chest at what she intended to do. Trying not to over think it, lest she chicken out, Sara made her arms move up and around him. She felt his body jump at the contact and the thought that he might think she was sneaking up on him for another reason, and lash out, flitted through her mind and then her head was resting between his tense shoulder blades, her hands coming together at his waist.

A hug; something so simple and yet Sara was quite sure Michael had been long over due.

At first he didn't move, not a muscle, as if stunned, and then his fingers were on her hands, covering them gently, as his body relaxed against hers.

XXXXX

Nothing had happened really, the hug not leading anywhere, but Michael had let her hold him and Sara knew this was a huge step for them. Not that there was a 'them'. How could there be a 'them', when they didn't make any sense? But then none of this did. How could she be feeling these things for the man who held her hostage?

Still, her fingers moved back to his gift, the small rose; its paper petals as smooth as the darkness around her and as intricate as her troubled thoughts with its layers and many folds.

Lying back, Sara closed her eyes and willed herself to think of something that did not bring her back to troubled blue eyes, and the feel of him against her chest, but this feat seemed impossible. This had become something she had never thought it would, and the thought scared her. Her growing feelings for Michael scared her. And she had to wonder how much of what she was feeling was real. And what, if anything did Michael feel for her in return? It was an endless chase for answers that only brought her back full circle.

Her eyes moved to the window, the small chip beckoning to her, daring her to guess the time of day.

She had been alone in the room for what had to be hours now, her last glimpse of Michael, when he brought her a sandwich and a bottle of water. Bologna, at the very thought the taste filled her mouth. If, no, _when_ she got out of this room, Sara swore she would never touch another slice of bologna. She had never been a fan of the greasy meat, and here it had become a main staple in her diet. Another circle she could not escape. As this thought occurred to her, Sara cupped her face in her hands, God, she must be truly losing it! Here she was comparing her thoughts to a slice of bologna!

The sound of a key in the lock shattered her thoughts to the wind and Sara sat up, tension instantly filling her body.

She had a moment to reassure herself that the syringe was easily within reach and then Michael was pushing open the door.

"Hi," this greeting, so unnatural, sounded strange to Sara's ears, but if nothing else it broke the silence. It certainly did nothing to ease the tension that filled the small room the second he had entered and closed the door.

The four walls were still sheathed in the pall of darkness, Michael's features in shadow as he moved across the room to stand at the window. His body blocked the small chip in the paint and he all but vanished for a moment, until her eyes could adjust. And then she could see him there, in heavy outline.

She had a moment to wonder what, if anything he was thinking and then he was moving, the room once again lit by the small flame of light the chip cast upon the dark room.

Sara was still sitting as she had been when he opened the door, but her spine straightened as he drew closer. Not out of fear as it may have in the past, but simply at attention. She had no idea what this visit would entail but it felt different somehow, charged.

As expected, Michael took his place next to the cot, his back against the wall. Seconds ticked away and he still had not said a word.

Realizing the redundancy of thanking him for his gift again, but for lack of anything better to say, Sara found herself doing just that. "I don't usually like flowers, I guess because they don't last, but this one, it's different. Thank you, Michael."

In equal redundancy, her second attempt at a "thank you" was met with silence on Michael's part. And then, "Our Mother taught us origami, me and Linc. What you said about the crane, Sara, you were right, familial obligation. It was one of the first things I learned to make." His voice was low and Sara found herself leaning into the darkness to hear him. "She was big on that once, family."

Sara remembered Michael saying that his mother had killed herself when he was a child and she felt a lump forming in her throat, tears prickling behind her eyelids. He was so battered, so torn. What his life must have been like she could only imagine. Her own mother had died when Sara was a child, but her father had always been there for her. But from what she had gathered from Michael's drunken confession, Lincoln had been taken from him, their lives torn apart by his mother's suicide. And he had been alone then, a small boy left with no one.

Reaching into the darkness her hand connected with his shoulder in an act of boldness, a boldness she was capable of only because of the moment they had shared earlier that day when he let her hold him. She was only slightly surprised when his hand came up and fell over hers, the warmth of his fingers a gentle caress. In order to reach him, Sara had been forced to lean out from the cot. She leaned a little further now and pressed her hand flush against him to feel his warmth.

There was only a foot of empty space and a kiss of the shadow's breath between them when his eyes came up level with hers. Sara wished she could see him better, but she had a feeling his guard was completely down and the tragic beauty of his eyes unveiled would not only snatch her breath but wound her soul in the process.

"Michael," She spoke into the darkness not really expecting a response but he gave one when his gentle fingers lifted her hand and brought it to his lips.

Sara could feel his breath against her skin in the moment of hesitation before the softness of his mouth touched down on the tips of her fingers. His lips were so soft, like a whisper, his actions muddling her thoughts. This was not exactly what she was expecting when she reached out to him. All of her confused feelings were rushing forward to haunt Sara, but at the same time, the very realness of Michael only a breath away was slamming through her, mind, body and soul, the comforter becoming the comforted by his gentle actions.

"Sara," then he _was_ whispering, his soft words spoken into her hand.

Sara pulled her hand from his, missing the warmth of him immediately as her fingers moved to the roughness of his unshaven jaw, to trace lightly, a different sensation attempting to fill the void of his touch. But it was not enough. Fingers seeking, Sara followed her heart's pounding command, giving it free reign as her hand moved behind his neck to pull him forward, to break through the shadows that nested between them until nothing remained but the softness of his mouth, the taste of him that she had supped but only once.

Lips parting, she accepted his offering, the tip of his tongue moving deeper within, as her mouth grew more demanding of him.

"Michael," this was a soft moan, a murmur of heat lost against the dew of his breath, as she backed them towards the cot.

He moved with her, no longer hesitant, the small cot holding their weight as he joined her, his body molding to fit hers perfectly as he eased his weight down.

The clanking of metal on metal soon joined the heat of their breath and then she was demanding," "Take off the cuff, Michael." In his efforts to comply, Michael reached between them, his hand grazing her breast on its way to his pocket, eliciting a moan, a feral sound she hadn't known herself capable.

This was all moving so fast, but she didn't want to stop. She wanted this, she wanted him, as crazy as it all seemed, as impossible as 'they' seemed.

The hand not shackled, exalted in its freedom by pulling his mouth to hers as she leaned into him in her efforts to get closer.

She was only slightly aware that she might be hindering his progress in freeing her hand from its tether with this action, but if so, the taste of him, the feel of his hand squirming against her was worth it.

Pulling away, he reached above their heads to unlock her. Sara took that moment to lean up and suck at his neck, the salty taste of him against her tongue alighting senses already raw with awakening.

He gasped at this contact, his hands freezing in their actions. It wasn't until her lips left his skin that he was able to function well enough to fit the small key into the lock.

And then she was free…

The moment the cuff left her wrist to bang empty against the cot, her hand was moving, joining the darkness in its eager caress of his skin...

XXXXX

A short time had passed, with the two lying on the small cot, silence bathing them along with the darkness. The sweat on their skin had dried, and their breaths had evened, but neither had spoken a word since their coupling.

The feelings moving within Sara were of a surreal quality tinged with confusion, the safety she felt now, with his arms around her more real with each passing moment, each quiet breath drawn and expelled. She had to remind herself that she was lying here with her captor, a dangling handcuff ready to be slipped on her wrist should he leave. And he would leave; of this she was certain.

In the heat of the moment, the gentleness of his actions had fed something in Sara that had been growing. There was never a more lonely place then being locked in ones own mind and Sara had been a prisoner to her fear, her uncertain destiny, honed by solitude, for too many days without comfort. At least this was what she was telling herself, this was her excuse as her body lay sated, reddened from his exploring lips, hands and mouth. But why then did she feel so safe with him beneath her, safe here of all places, when she had not felt such security in so long.

Turning her head, her lips came to rest lightly against him. She could barely make out the scars covering him in the shadowy darkness, as his chest rose and fell, but they were there, the physical and the emotional scars tied together no doubt, in an intricate pattern woven with past pain, like a blueprint to his soul, if only she was of the capacity to read it. But it was beyond her abilities to fathom the life Michael had led that would take him to this place. Though with the passing of days more and more of it had pieced together in her mind.

How real any of her imaginings were, Sara could only guess. But of this she was certain, he was locked in solitude himself. Michael may have escaped the small closet's physical confines, but he had not escaped the solitary confinement that was Michael Scofield, the box he had constructed to keep others out, to keep himself safe; or was it maybe a creation of self punishment? So much punishment, if the scars were, as she suspected a result of self mutilation.

Reaching a finger through the shadows, Sara traced the small scar beneath his left nipple. His body tensed beneath her, "Don't."

Her finger froze in its tracks for a beat and then she raised her silken head to regard him in the darkness. "Its okay, Michael, Its ok…" her eyes were drawn to the small scar above his top lip, the darkness failing in its attempt to hide the small fissure she had memorized and could track, if need be, behind closed eyelids.

Sara moved through the darkness until she was just above him, her breath hitting the softness of his mouth a beat before her lips fell.

She sucked softly at the small line above his lips then, her mouth moving lower as he responded to her, to dip her tongue between the warmth of his lips, to then suck along his bottom lip, lest it be jealous of her past attentions.

While their first coupling had evolved from the offer of comfort to a desperate need to be comforted, this second round of love making began unselfishly on Sara's part, her lips leaving his to trail down his neck in a sweet, wet caress.

His breath quickened as her hands moved along the hard, lean planes of his body, but he didn't move, he was as if frozen, immobile by her actions.

Fearing for a brief moment that he might throw her off of him, Sara paused in her exploration, but as his thickness grew harder in her hand she let her mouth fall to his nipple, the deep kiss taking in his flesh, the small scar instantly enveloped in the warmth of her mouth.

His moan, almost startling, broke the silence and Sara was encouraged to continue her therapy. She had a feeling he was ashamed of the scars; that they were a secret she was not supposed to see, but circumstance had led her to them when he rescued her from Paul, when he had offered her his shirt.

Now there was no unseeing, no way to erase the lines tattooed on her retinas, the pathway to the hell he had traveled through to reach her. To reach this place in time, for whatever it was worth, whatever it would come to be. For now it was just this and that would have to be enough.

Her mouth moved along as her grip on him tightened, the breath in his chest rising faster as she traced one scar after another, her tongue moving over each one lovingly, pressing deeper in her efforts to heal some of what she was sure must lie beneath the flesh, to those scars not visible to the naked eye.

Sara knew from her experience as a doctor that all scars were different; some held numbness, while others were ultra sensitive.

Some of Michael's scars seemed more sensitive, the small gasps as her mouth took the flesh in telling. This one, a long jagged line along his rib cage…That one near his navel, smaller, yet more aware…

Releasing her grip on him, Sara traced the largest of Michael's scars. This one was located on his abdomen.

A shiver passed through him as her tongue moved over the upraised flesh and she sucked harder, taking the skin into her mouth, reddening it. This was the most sensitive of his scars, she had yet to find and she took her time, her teeth scraping along, forcing pleasure on the once tortured flesh.

"Sara," his breath was ragged on the end of a gasp as he reached as if to stop her, but he didn't. Instead his long fingers wove into her bed tangled tresses.

It was Sara who stopped, but only to move up, to straddle his thighs, to allow his eager entry.

The next gasp was her own as he filled her, her body complying with the dimensions of him, the hard smoothness of him as he moved beneath her. His hands moved to her hips, pressing her into him, guiding her along, his fingers gripping, to form moon crescents beneath trim fingernails as his breath sped, coming faster.

Touched in blue shadows, her pale skin on fire, she moved above him, red tresses flowing along her back as he looked up at her. Sara wondered briefly, what of her features he could detect in the meager lighting; did he see what this was doing to her?

But he had to know that this was not an act, didn't he? That her reactions to him, the wetness encasing him was impossible to fake, the moans elicited from her lips a guttural truth her lips were but forced to speak?

Her questions went unvoiced, but they were answered as he moved up through the darkness to her, his chest meeting hers heartbeat to heartbeat, her nipples upon meeting his hot flesh, aching more where she had thought this impossible.

As the heat from his breath against her neck moved to her chest the warmth through her belly spread, begging for release.

Rising up, Sara allowed his mouth the smooth taste of her. But this was not an unselfish gesture; she knew this as a gasp left her, as she reveled in the heat of his tongue on her aroused buds.

Soon the need to feel him deeper was driving her hips back down, sending his heartbeat slamming next to hers.

It was this one thrust that sent her tipping, the orgasm rushing through her, tearing the moans from her lips as she moved faster for him, pulling him along with her until his breath was gasping out of him to join her rapid breath in the shadowy darkness.


	22. Chapter 22

As she had known that he would, at some point in the night he left her. Sara had feigned sleep in silent acquiescence as the cold steel of the cuff was slipped over her wrist and gently tightened. He didn't trust her, at least not enough. So she had lain there taking in the deep breaths of false slumber as Michael left the room only to return moments later with a thin blanket to place over her nude form, she had lain there as he looked down upon her, the white shroud of the blanket tinged blue from the shadows that lit along the rise and fall of her exaggerated breath.

What was he thinking?

This was information she would pay high ransom to be privy to and Sara supposed she was. Meeting Michael had cost so much and she had a feeling the full cost was yet to be tallied. Just how much she would lose was something Sara refused to ponder as the slow night, or what was left of it ebbed towards dawn.

Now she lay with the blanket pulled close, its thin security no match for the heat of his body, his breath as it was drawn from the darkened shadows that stirred in the air above them somehow speeding the night on fast forward where it now held the reigns of time with a death grip. Now that she was alone and he was gone.

Since he left she had not been able to sleep. But the few hours she had managed before he moved silently from her bed had been deep and untroubled, the most satisfying hours of blissful rest she had yet to receive in this place.

But morning would come and then what? Would Michael pretend this hadn't happened? Would the cold steel of his eyes take precedence or would she find some warmth beneath the blue irises that echoed the shadows in that they concealed so much? If the room hadn't been so dark, what would she have seen as he moved above her? His gentleness with her had spoken volumes, but the need in him had not let their couplings remain so. Not that he had been rough, not in the least. And how tightly he had held her at his release, as if in letting go he had to hold on or risk losing himself. And Sara had held on just as tightly. She felt her stomach flutter at the thought of him, the taste; the salt of his skin embedded in her memory forevermore.

Closing her eyes she willed the door to open. But quiet permeated the air.

It was at this moment she was hit with a feeling of vulnerability. She was completely naked under the thin blanket. If Paul were to…No, she could not let her mind go there.

Reaching silently she felt along the underside of the mattress for the hidden syringe. Her breath rushed out of her in relief as her fingers wrapped around it. When the door opened it would be Michael, not Paul. She had to believe this. Still the added comfort of the slim syringe was enough to calm her racing heart, to help her endure the quiet minutes, the hours before dawn would arrive to brighten the memory of sky that filtered in through the small chip in the painted window glass.

XXXXX

He was quiet, had been quiet since leading Sara to the bathroom and from there to Lincoln's bedside where she obediently slipped into doctor mode and did what was expected of her. And though her hands worked, administering meds, changing bandages, her mind was never far away from the silent figure that watched her every move, but avoided her eyes if she were to attempt even a casual meeting.

Now that his assistance was no longer needed, Michael sat behind her in the sole chair that occupied the room. And Sara had to wonder when his eyes would simply bore through the back of her skull, such was their intensity.

Her duties complete, she paused to prepare herself for the blue onslaught that awaited her or even worse, continued avoidance and then tugged off her gloves. Turning, she fell into the trap of his gaze, her throat suddenly going dry, as her pulse sped up.

"The sutures look fine, he's healing nicely," she managed and pulled her eyes away.

Sara tossed the gloves into the small garbage bin, and grabbed the bottle of water from its spot on the table. Taking a small sip, she tried to ignore the slight tremble in her fingers, a tremble that had not been present, until this moment, she noted as she screwed the cap back on and set the bottle aside. He was not looking at her, somehow she knew this. The weight of his stare was not heavy upon her. Chancing a look, she turned to him. As suspected his eyes had tipped down to the small paper crane in his hands.

"Good because we have to leave here soon. I need to get him out of here, Sara…There are people…" He trailed off as if he had said too much.

A beat later he was on his feet. A few short steps took him to his brother's bedside, where he gently placed the small bird on Lincoln's chest, just over his heart. He stood quietly then, his back to Sara, his eyes on his brother's closed lids. "Can we let him wake up soon?" his voice came out low, reminiscent of a small child.

Sara nodded, but realized he would not see this; his eyes had gone back into hiding, at least from her, but if they reflected even a hint of what she detected in his voice…

"Whenever you like… I'll just lower the pain meds and he should wake up, it's mostly the medication that is keeping him under.

"Okay then, lower the meds, but only if he is comfortable." He turned from his brother, once again in complete control, "I have some things to take care of, so I need you back in your room for a while."

"Okay." This was not a question and Sara knew this, but she answered him anyways. "It's not dangerous is it?" Her eyes moved involuntarily to the bandage on his arm. "Come on." The tone of his voice more than his avoidance of the question was enough to send fear shooting through Sara.

"Michael, Lincoln needs you…I…I need you…"

His eyes, the intensity she had not imagined hit her worried copper orbs. "It's okay, I know what I'm doing, Sara. Come on." His hand wrapped gently around her forearm and then he was leading her back to her room.

xxX The next day Xxx

Alone now, with nothing but the heat and the steam of the shower, Sara tried to let her mind go, attempting to wash away the tension and fatigue that had built throughout the long night.

Despite the worry he had caused her, even now, she still could not bring herself to be angry with him. On the contrary, when Michael unlocked the door and stepped into her room that morning, with no blood marring his clothing, no visible injuries that she could detect, Sara had felt relief flood through her on a level she had not imagined possible.

He was ok. Yes, Michael had left her to endure the night alone and unknowing of his fate, but one look at the dark circles under his eyes, the tired slope of his broad shoulders and she knew. He had not slept. In fact he was probably just returning from wherever, whatever it was he had insisted he must do.

Not the time for questions, if ever there were such a time where Michael was concerned, Sara had let him lead her quietly to the small bathroom, where her fifteen minutes had started to tick slowly away with the closing of the door.

Surely her time must be up soon? He would be coming for her and when she didn't answer…

The light knock would have gone undetected if Sara had not been listening for it, but she was.

Waiting, she stood, water dripping along her pale skin, the slight pink it held from the heat of the hot spray, the heat that was slowly moving inward as her heart sped, as her body reacted to the thought of him on the other side of the door…to the thought of HIM…And she trusted that it was Michael not Paul. When had she come to trust him so, that she could feel this safe in her arousal, this sure?

The door opening cleared these thoughts with a pounding of her pulse. The outline of her body behind the flimsy curtain would be visible and she imagined she could feel his eyes on her, the intensity of them.

"Sara?" One word, one question and all she had to do was pull the curtain open, meet those eyes, voice one word, in answer…

"Michael," her fingers were slippery on the wet plastic as she pulled it back to let him look upon her. She met his eyes, holding them captive but for a moment and then they were traveling the length of her as if drinking her in, before moving back to her face, her eyes, and then on to the hand that she had extended to him. "Come here." Afraid then that he would not comply, "Please?"

Only five short steps, but it seemed a lifetime before he reached the small enclosure, before her fingers met his to pull him into the stall next to her.

Michael gasped as the heat of the water hit him and then closing his eyes, he raised his face to its spray. It was Sara's turn to stare then as the water moved along his unshaven cheeks, his full lips, and down his neck to plaster the thin blue t-shirt to his strong chest and arms as if it were a second skin.

Standing just in front of him, but a hair's breadth away she had yet to touch him, but her body was aching for his touch, for the feel of him against her. "Michael? Look at me, please?"

He brought up his hand to swipe at the water on his face and leaned out of the spray, still not looking at her, but somewhere just past her left shoulder. Sara stepped closer, not touching, but the heat of him ever present, much hotter than the spray of the shower, or was she simply imagining this, could be felt against her flushed skin despite the inches of space still floating emptily between them.

Bringing a hand up, Sara traced her fingers lightly along his jaw, moving his head until she met his closed eyelids with hot copper, silently daring him to open them. "Michael?"

Time unimaginable crawled forward as she waited. And then unable to wait a moment longer, Sara closed the distance between them with a crashing of lips.

They were back under the intensity of the shower's spray then, the water flooding along their bodies a drenching heat, as Sara's tongue demanded entry, as she sucked along his bottom lip pulling it in, wanting to taste him, needing to taste him. His hands had moved instantly to cup her ass, his fingers pulling her closer, even as she moved, pushing him backward. His back hit the wall of the stall as she pushed against him, her aching flesh instantly reacting to the wet, slick material of the t-shirt melded to his skin, skin that she wanted to be closer to.

Peeling the shirt up, Sara ran her fingers along his wet sides, coming to rest on the soaked denim that clung to his hips, where she hung on. His mouth was devouring, each dip of his tongue shooting heat throughout her body as the kiss grew to be all consuming; as his reactions to her let some of the cool control he hid behind slip away.

It was passion and anger that made him lose control…this thought flitted through her mind, but was wiped clean as his fingers found her, to dip inside, once, then twice before leaving her all the more wet, all the more wanting.

"Don't stop…" This was mumbled against his mouth, her hot breath leaving swollen lips, hungry…"Please don't stop." Her fingers were on the button to his jeans, the zipper…"Don't stop."

Moving her backward, Michael hoisted her up, her back coming up against the opposite wall of the stall hard, as her long legs wrapped around him.

His mouth, hungrier yet, found her breasts, first one then the other, each kiss, each pull into his mouth stoking the furnace that was steadily growing inside her until Sara thought she might explode.

But this was not how she wanted it. "Michael…" She gasped as he entered her but forced herself to focus. His head was buried in her wet hair, against her neck, sucking along her skin as he moved; each thrust making coherent thought more and more difficult.

Forcing her eyes open, she leaned her head back against the tiles seeking, "Michael…Look at me…See me, please?"

He froze for a moment, but for the pounding of his heart against her, or maybe it was her own heart which had sped even faster at his reaction to her demands. "Please?" Her hands were cupping his shorn head and it was here she felt the first signs of movement as he pulled back from her.

Her hands fell down around his neck as his eyes came up level with her own, eyes so full of heat, desire, and something that made her heart soar. It was a raw emotion, one that needed to be nurtured but it was there. This was not just sex to him, no more than it was to her.

"I see you, Sara…I see you." His low voice heavy with emotion, with all that was reflected in the blue pools of his eyes seared the breath from her lungs.

When she was able, "Good, that's good…I need you, Michael…I need you to see me." Locked with his stare, Sara moved her hips against him slightly, urging him on, her fingers leaving his neck only to cup his face as he began to move again, following her rhythm. When a small gasp left his parted lips she wanted so badly to kiss him but restrained from this action, knowing the eye contact, this moment, was important for them both.

His eyes tipped closed for a beat but fluttered back open, "Sara…" more breath than voice, but how could she not hear it when the second her name left his lips it was imbedded in her soul?

"Michael…" Her eyes held his as the heat within grew and spread, as her thighs began to shake against his hips…

His eyes never left hers as the pleasure washed through her, as she echoed his name. And then he was moving faster, but Sara didn't let go of her grip on his face. She wanted to see him, to see it in his face, his eyes, what she was doing to him, what this intimacy might bring, if only he would allow it.

To her surprise he held her eyes, his mouth coming open to gasp his release, and it was a release on more than just a physical level.

Michael had let his guard down with her...This time with no shadows to hide behind he had been forced to let her in.


	23. Chapter 23

Cool blue, heavily made up eyes snapped up from where she sat at his desk as he entered the room and Mahone felt dread slice through him. Agent Morgan had only been on the job for a few days, but he had already memorized her M.O.

"When was Veronica Donovan interviewed, exactly?"

Fighting the urge to reach for his 'security' pen, Alex met her stare dead on. "I believe it should all be in there Agent, the date she was questioned along with everything else."

He was tired of her power plays. It had been days since contact with the HT's and zero new leads. In any other case, any ordinary case, one not involving someone so high profile, the case would have been considered too cold to tie up so much man power. But here he was still sharing his quarters with Agent Revlon and there seemed to be no end in sight.

"I see here that Ms. Donovan was only questioned once and we never did a follow up to confirm she has had no further contact with the HT's?"

"There was nothing to indicate that the brother's would contact Ms. Donovan, Agent. She hasn't been a part of their lives for the past year and a half. And besides, if you ask me, she was a bit of a flake."

Agent Morgan ignored his cold stare as she flipped through the interview notes. "I didn't ask you Agent, and there's no excuse for sloppy work." She was silent for a beat as she drummed her nails on the page in front of her, and then as if she had not just called him incompetent at his job, "It says here that the two brother's Scofield and Burrows were close, but she felt a jealousy on Kellerman's part? It sounds to me like she knew these men fairly well. Flake or no flake, I think I'll pay Ms. Donovan a visit. Maybe share a little girl talk."

"Maybe she could share some make-up tips," This was mumbled quietly under his breath as Mahone made his way to the coffee pot in the corner and poured himself a steamy cup of his only vice. When he turned Agent Morgan was right behind him and from the look on her face she had overheard his little 'joke'.

"You don't have to like me Agent. Hell, you can even hate me if you like. But I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you until I say this case is closed." Without waiting for his response, Agent Morgan moved, leaning to look behind him. "You took the last coffee cup? Typical. " Mahone's eyes fell to the Styrofoam cup his hand was slowly tightening around and forced his grip to relax. She was good at pushing his buttons, all right. "See if you can find me a cup, will you, Agent? Or do we need to bring in someone to do that for you too?"

Missing the look Mahone shot her, Agent Morgan turned and made her way across the room, where having dismissed him, she took her seat, sliding her skirt clad thighs back beneath his desk.

Mahone bit down on his anger as he made his way past her dipped raven head and out into the hallway. He had traveld only a few steps when he slammed the coffee cup into the corridor wall.

His eyes followed the cup as it rolled in the spilt liquid and then straightening his shoulders, he bent and retreived the now empty cup.

XXXXX

The small noises from the bed, a moan here, a groan there were all signs that Lincoln would be regaining consciousness soon. Michael, after many reassurances that his brother was not in pain or much discomfort had finally settled into the chair he had placed beside the bed hours ago.

It had occurred to Sara earlier that it was the same chair he had brought to her room the day she arrived. If she let herself she could see him sitting there, dark hoodie covering most of his features, his menacing blue eyes, and they were menacing back then, staring out at her like someone from a Starwars movie. It seemed so long ago, but it wasn't and she had to remind herself once again that she had only been with the brothers for a short time. But so much had happened…Now all she saw was concern reflected in Michael's eyes, something he had ceased to veil this day; had actually dropped after their moments together in the shower. Sara felt warmth begin to spread through the pit of her stomach at the thought of their coupling and tried to force it aside.

"Mike…" Just one word from the prone figure on the small bed and Michael was on his feet, his body now blocking Sara's view from where she sat. She was hesitant to move. All warmth had vanished to be replaced with a cold steel grip as her stomach knotted up with nerves and if she were to be honest, more than a little bit of fear.

Lincoln, the man she had thus far considered merely her patient, someone in need and of course key to her own survival, was now becoming much more, or at least he would once he had awakened. Until this moment she had not let herself think about it much, but now that the time drew near her apprehension grew tenfold.

"He's coming to." Michael was speaking to her but his eyes never left his brother.

Twisting her hands, Sara slowly stood but she couldn't make herself move. From what she knew of him, Lincoln was a killer, most likely an individual far worse than she had yet encountered and that included Paul. As the thought of Paul and his whereabouts filled her thoughts, Sara forced this aside too, telling herself she should just be grateful he was not present, that she did not have to face the unknown while under the watchful leer of the beast she knew only too well.

"Sara…" The sounds of agitation from the bed had thrown her into motion, but only marginally, it was Michael's insistent voice that made her move faster until she was standing beside him.

In the short time it took for her to reach them, Lincoln had calmed and was now, to all appearances sleeping. Reaching out with a shaky hand, Sara lifted one of his eye lids. It was only a split second after she let it fall back into place that his hand clamped down on her wrist and she was looking into a set of eyes mirroring a bleary mix of pissed off and confusion.

The grip on her wrist was strong, stronger than Sara would have thought a man in Lincoln's condition capable, but her racing heart and the sweat that had instantly gathered at her temples and now crawled coldly along her spine left little doubt in her belief that he was a force to be reckoned with, a force to be feared even on a bad day.

"Linc…Its okay, man, it's me Michael…Its okay…"

Cold blue eyes the color of denim, their bloodshot appearance making them all the more menacing, shifted from Sara to Michael as Lincoln tried to focus on the two of them. "Michael?" The grip loosened minutely and Sara felt herself begin to breathe again.

"Yeah, it's me, Bro. It's okay."

Michael reached and peeled his brother's fingers from her wrist and Sara fell back, her body moving until she was forced to cease motion by the wall that came up all too soon and solid behind her.

From this vantage point she could no longer see the two brother's faces, but she could hear them plainly enough as she subconsciously rubbed at her sore wrist.

"Mike? What's going on, Man? Where the hell are we?" Lincoln's confusion and the roughness of a voice rusty from little use made Sara jump, her shoulders knocking painfully into the wall as her heart kicked up a notch.

"We're at the old church, Linc, You're safe. I'm taking care of things." Sara could hear what sounded like pride in Michael's voice, but it was short lived.

"The church Michael, Mom's old church…What did you do?" this last was spoken quietly, with a tired dread, the words sounding heavy with exhaustion even for a man in Linc's condition. This was followed by what Sara could only assume to be the scraping of Lincoln's large hand over his shorn scalp.

Tears making his voice rough now, "I got you out of there, is what I did. They were going to kill you, Linc. I did what I had to do…Just like you."

His shoulders were stiff, his body still blocking Sara's view but she was enthralled, barely breathing as her own fear was pushed aside, forgotten as she listened, as she felt Michael's pain at his brother's reaction to all that he had done for him.

"You should've left it alone, Mike…You should of…" Linc's voice faltered for a beat and then as if it had just occurred to him that she was still in the room, "Who's the skirt, Michael? How does she play into this? Tell me you didn't do something stupid."

"She's a doctor…And she's the ransom," Michael's voice sounded tired now almost monotone, "Dr. Sara Tancredi."

(The next day)

The box hit the desk in front of Agent Mahone unceremoniously, almost knocking over his cup of steaming coffee. It was only the stealth of his right hand shooting out, the same hand that had saved his ass many a time in the line of duty, when the need had arisen to draw his holstered weapon. Not that his life was in danger from the teetering hot brew, but his boys would thank him soon enough, that is when they finally came out of hiding and his dry cleaner would thank him as well; coffee stained like a bitch.

Seriously pissed-off eyes moved from the hand that now clutched the styrofoam cup and grazed across, barely registering the contents of the small box, before diving head on into daggers of smug blue lightning.

"Care to guess what's in the box, Agent Mahone?"

"Please, tell me it isn't the head of the last guy you worked with, Agent Morgan. "

Agitation shot into her icy blue orbs, but failed to lend even an ember of heat. "That's really funny, yeah, and somehow I still managed not to laugh. No, the box and its contents are an exact replica of the box that Michael Scofield picked up from Veronica Donovan's home two weeks prior to the abduction. Flake or no flake, you slip a few whiskey sours into her, V sings like a bird."

Mahone's eyes had narrowed as he listened to the lipstick coated words fall from Agent Morgan's lips but now they were busily scanning and documenting the contents of the small box.

Reaching deep, his hand rifled absently over what few items there were; slips of paper with neat handwriting that represented missing photos and ticket stubs...other memorabilia of a relationship over but obviously not entirely forgotten. His eyes fell on the empty can of Reddi-whipped topping, but he moved on refusing to give into the distraction of where the shiny red and white can might lead him.

"No girl ever forgets her first love and they rarely if ever throw anything out that's left behind."

Ignoring Gretchen's words, Mahone snatched up the small rectangular object resting on the bottom of the box and brought the thin, shiny volume out for his perusal. "The Outsider's, a novel by S.E. Hinton?"

"Yeah, I guess it was a favorite of Lincoln Burrows'. He used to read it to Scofield. According to Ms. Donovan it had a certain calming effect."

Hearing every spoken word this time but still choosing not to respond, Mahone flipped through the book, the new binding springing the pages forward with a whisk of air. This was it. He somehow knew it, if any of these items were of any importance it was this one, this book. Shoving the rest of the items back into the box, Mahone settled back and scanned the back of the book for a quick summary.

'The Hand at the back of my neck was strong…I'm drowning, I thought…'

'The Socs' idea of a good time is beating up greasers like Ponyboy. Ponyboy knows what to expect and knows he can count on his brothers…'

As Mahone scanned the rest of the text, a small smile lit across his lips. Yep, this was it. Somehow this was the slip up he had slipped up and missed. But the answer was in his hands now and if it wasn't already too late he was going to find it.

Ignoring the icy blue eyes still trained on him with sniper precision, he flipped open the book's cover and began to read the first page…

'When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the movie house…'

(Borrowed lines from- The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton )

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sorry this is so short but I have been very busy these days.8(

And thank you for all of the great comments and reviews! I loved them all. I only wish I had more time to respond to them.


	24. Chapter 24

"He frightens you, doesn't he?" his voice broke through the quiet of the small room, a quiet that had become complete since her speeding pulse had slowed and was no longer pounding in her ears as it had during and just after their love making.

Sara lay in Michael's arms now thinking how to answer this question. How honest should she be?

Hesitantly, "Yes. He scares me, Michael."

"You don't need to be afraid of him, Sara. Linc's not like Paul…he's not like…"

His voice trailed off leaving Sara to wonder what his next words would have been. Was Michael trying to say Lincoln wasn't like him?

These words and the mention of Paul brought with it another question, one that Sara could no longer _not_ think. Where was Paul? It had been days since she had seen him, not that he was missed, but what if…

She didn't want to think about this. Not now, not with Michael so close, his gentle arms holding her, defying the very idea that he could harm his own brother. But the thought seemed deeply imbedded now and she couldn't shake it.

Thankful for the darkness that clothed them, thankful that Michael could not see the struggle now reflected in her eyes, Sara thought of the man she had come to know, so much different from the hooded, guarded man who had brought her to this place…As different as the two sides of a coin, but still one and the same.

Leaning her face into his chest, she closed her eyes. She had almost summoned the nerve to ask him where Paul was, but before the words could leave her mouth, Michael was speaking again, "When we get out of here, when we get to Panama, Sara, you'll see. Lincoln's not what you think he is…he's not like that…what they say he did? He could never do that…If you knew him like I do, you would know that too." Michael's voice sounded so sure, his belief in his brother's innocence so unshakable that for a moment Sara almost forgot what she had read in the newspapers, the evidence, the conviction. Lincoln Burrows had brutally killed four men. How could Michael possibly believe otherwise?

Her thoughts went back to earlier that evening when Lincoln had awakened, the hostility in his eyes, the way he had spoken to Michael. The memory sent a shiver through Sara and she was thankful that Michael had ushered her to her room shortly there after, she had been thankful to be away from her patient, even if for a while.

As if sensing her struggle, "I owe him Sara. I owe Lincoln my life…" Michael's voice was getting lower now as if coming from a greater distance, though he was right there next to her on the small cot.

Silence beat its hushed wings then as nearly a minute passed with Sara waiting patiently.

But when Michael finally continued, it was as if he was speaking to himself as if he was now alone or truly somewhere else. "If not for Lincoln, it would have been me in that prison cell," Sara felt him shudder against her at the very thought, "they would have locked me away…he knew that I couldn't take that. He knew that the second he walked into Abruzzi's place…When he found me with them…When he saw what I had done…I remember what he said that night, just like it was yesterday, 'I'm here for you Mike…I'm here this time…I'm gonna fix this…and he did. He fixed it…he got me out of there…He took it all on himself. He was willing to die in that chair for me...I owe him."

His words froze Sara's blood. What was Michael saying, that his brother was innocent, that it was he, Michael who had pulled the trigger? That he was the murderer? Her heart was speeding full throttle, her eyes wide, no longer shuttered against her thoughts.

And Paul? What about Paul? Somehow this mattered all the more…

The question, when she found her voice came out muffled, but at the same time loud in the otherwise silent night, "Michael, where's Paul?"

His voice when it came, was stronger, with more substance, more _there_, "Don't worry Sara, he's not going to hurt you again..."

She could hear Lincoln's words, a screaming echo in her head, "Michael, what did you do?" She couldn't make herself voice this question herself.

Whether this reluctance was out of fear of what Michael would do, or the fear of what his answer might be, Sara was no longer entirely certain.

XXXXX

At some point during his second reading of The Outsiders, Agent Mahone had dozed off. How he had managed to do this, given the massive amounts of coffee he had consumed that night, he wasn't exactly sure, but when he awoke around 1:00am, with a stiff neck and grainy eyes, he still wasn't any closer to deciphering the small tome's secrets, if indeed there really were any to begin with.

He was beginning to think he was wrong and the book didn't mean anything other than the fact that the brothers shared a fondness for teen literature, and that really wasn't so uncommon. Mahone's own wife Pam was fascinated these days with a series of books about a teenager's romance with a vampire of all things.

Shaking his head, Alex rose from his chair and dragged his weary frame to the coffee pot on the far side of the room.

Cup now brimming full with hot liquid, he made his way back to his desk. Maybe he was looking at this from the wrong angle? Maybe it wasn't the brothers he should be concentrating on, but what, rather whom they had been the closest to?

There was Veronica Donovan; she had after all, been in contact with the brothers since the abduction. But somehow it didn't _feel _right. He guessed that was why he hadn't given her much thought, why he had made himself vulnerable to Agent Morgan's smug 'I told you so'.

At the thought of the blue eyed supermodel turned super agent, Mahone felt his blood heat up as if to rival the hot beverage in his hand and forced himself to calm down. Once his blood pressure was under control, the deep breathing exercises he had learned from his therapist having worked their magic, Mahone went through his mental list of the friends and family of the three brothers. The one that stood out for him, one Christina Scofield was a dead end. No pun intended; the woman had been in the ground for over twenty years.

Still…

Riffling through his files, Mahone pulled out the file containing what little information they had on Christina Scofield.

Despite his fatigue, his eyes scanned the first few paragraphs quickly.

It wasn't until Mahone hit the fifth paragraph that the proverbial light bulb went off.

"Son of a bitch…" Why hadn't he thought of this?

Christina Scofield was a religious woman. How could he have forgotten this? A religious woman who had committed suicide? It took all sorts, he supposed.

Pushing the thought aside, he quickly finished the few remaining paragraphs in the file, hoping the info he was seeking would jump right out at him; the name of the church Christina had attended with her sons, before her death. No such luck.

Not bothering to close the now useless file, Mahone grabbed the phone, punched in a few numbers and then waited.

A sleepy Agent Morgan greeted him, "This had better be damn good Mahone…"

"Just get in here…I think I may know where they are keeping her."

A click later, Mahone was making another phone call. "Agent Hale, I need a list of any and all abandoned churches in a one hundred mile radius…no you'd better make that two hundred…Bring me the list as soon as it's compiled…Oh and Agent Hale, I don't think I need to tell you this is to be top priority and to be executed with the utmost caution to avoid a security breach…If this information were to be leaked to the press..." Mahone didn't finish, but listened instead to Agent Hale's response that he was on it. "And right away Sir."

Now all he had to do was assemble his team and wait...

XXXXX

The silence was thick, a tangible thickness Sara could almost taste; so much silence, with only the soft sounds of Michael breathing beside her, partially beneath her. The small cot was barely large enough to accommodate the two of them and required an intertwining of limbs Sara had never minded until this night.

Unlike most nights, Michael had drifted off to sleep, what seemed like only moments after their talk, leaving Sara wide awake in the darkness with only her thoughts and fears to guide her through the long hours. Hours she had thus far spent weighing her options.

How could you both love and fear someone so thoroughly, so equally? This was the question that kept at her, nibbling away at the false sense of security that being in Michael's arms had once brought, until it was merely scraps and crumbs with hardly enough sustenance to feed the burgeoning panic that had blossomed within upon his revelation. Michael was a murderer; a murderer who wanted her to run away to Panama with him.

But could she also run away from the fact that this man, the man whom she had finally reached on such an intimate level had brutally killed four, possibly five men if you counted his brother Paul, and she did.

How could she escape that? Could she trade these four scarred walls for moonlit beaches and swaying hammocks knowing what Michael was, what he was capable of if pushed the wrong way?

And who was to say she would not push him the wrong way at some point? Was she crazy to believe that Panama could erase this? Change anything? Michael was scarred, damaged, Sara had known this, witnessed as much, but she had never guessed the level of damage was so severe, so deep.

If he could kill his own brother…

She knew the answer to these questions; she supposed she had known the answer for some time, as the minutes ticked quietly away, with nothing to mark them but her small movements. Movements orchestrated, whether subconsciously or not, but made slowly to be sure, so as not to awaken Michael, allowing Sara to extract an arm here and a leg there, until she was now lying freely beside his sleeping form.

He had neglected to replace her wrist in the cuff and her eyes now sought out the shiny metal dangling from the iron cot frame. It also would stand to reason that the door was not locked. Michael didn't like locked doors.

Sara tried to remember if he had locked it, her mind traveling back to earlier that night, when the two of them had entered the room.

*Flashback*

"He's doing much better, his color is better…don't you think?" Michael pushed the door shut as he turned to her.

"He is doing better. He'll be back on his feet soon. We should be able to remove his catheter in a day or so." Sara tried to hide the nervousness this thought brought along with it. And she had thought herself successful when he voiced his next words.

"Which means we're that much closer to Panama, Sara." A smile like Sara had never seen lit Michael's face, and then he was pulling her into his arms, those same lips proving that a smile could taste better than it looked.

Moments later they were moving to the cot…

The images came in slow motion then, as Sara relived them. The gentle caresses escalating to the perfect balance of roughness, the feel of Michael beneath her…

The memories of their love making froze Sara in place for a moment and then she was back in the present, secure in the knowledge that Michael _had _left the door unlocked even as the silent war raged within.

Could she do this? Should she do this?

And then Sara was reaching for the syringe she had successfully kept hidden beneath the cot's frame.

She had to do this.

The syringe was full, a lethal dose to a non-tolerant.

With shaky hands Sara pulled off the cap. She would just give him a little, not enough to hurt him, just enough to keep him out, she reasoned. But the closer she got to the scarred flesh of Michael's right arm the more her hands shook.

She couldn't do this.

Sara's eyes moved back to the door, the unlocked door. This was her opportunity, probably her only chance for escape. Days ago she would have leapt at the door, at even the breath of a chance to get away and now here she was unable to do what was necessary?

Her hands continued to shake…

As she recapped the syringe, Sara called herself all kinds of coward but in truth it came down to this, she couldn't bring herself to harm Michael.

She would just have to move slowly, she told herself. Yes, that was it. She had done so successfully thus far.

She could do this.

But moving slowly took time. Time her speeding heart insisted was being wasted.

_One step at a time, Sara,_ she told herself as she eased her body closer to the edge of the cot. Be the tortoise not the hare. This last thought almost brought a nervous giggle from her lips but she bit it back just in time.

And then she _was _doing it.

What seemed like hours later, but was probably only a few minutes at best, sweat now covering her body as if she had just finished a marathon, Sara rose from the bed.

She was lifting her right foot off the floor, ready to take her first step when a sudden noise from the cot sounded behind her. Frozen in her tracks, Sara squeezed her eyes closed then, waiting for the hard hand to close on her wrist, the voice of the hooded man to ask what in the hell she thought she was doing, where did she think she was going? But it was just Michael subconsciously settling into the newly vacated space on the cot. With this realization Sara's breath rushed out in relief.

She stood for a moment willing her speeding heart to slow its pace as it continued to gallop along in her temples.

And then she was ready to move again, or as ready as she would ever be.

_One step at a time Sara…_

This was becoming a mantra as she took step after step, bringing her closer and closer to the door.

Pausing briefly, Sara scooped up her discarded clothing to tuck under her arm.

And then she was moving again…One step at a time.

Her hand was only inches from the door knob now. If she stepped outside the room, there was no going back.

Sara's fingers froze as she was hit once again with indecision.

She willed herself to not look back…to not see Michael lying vulnerable on the cot behind her, to un-see what he had shown her of himself…The battered little boy that lived inside the scarred, hard man he was forced to become…Sara tried to force these thoughts away as her hand wavered in the air so close, but yet so far from freedom.

It was only the thought of her father, the thought that she would never see him again, that he would not even know if his only daughter was alive or dead that got her moving again.

And then Sara was out the door and moving more quickly through the hall to the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sara pulled on her clothing and stuffed the loaded syringe into the top of her pants.

It was only then that she allowed herself to take in her surroundings, and as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit church, row upon row of pews appeared before her.

Michael had said something to Lincoln about the place being a church, but somehow the sight of all those neat pews was still a shock to Sara.

Despite this, she paused for only a moment and then she was moving again, her bare feet making little sound on the dusty hardwood floors as she moved up the aisle.


	25. Chapter 25

"**First Baptist Church of Chicago." Mahone tapped the paper in front of him. He was still pissed that the list had taken so long to comprise. What did these people not get about top priority? And computer problems? That just didn't cut it when someone's life was at stake. This was the FBI for God's sake!**

**Miss Revlon looked up at his voice, her baby blues somehow more startling without those extra minutes spent in front of a mirror. For once her eyes were naked. In fact, having been pulled from her bed in the middle of the night, Agent Morgan was completely free of face armor.**

"**I thought Christina Scofield was a Catholic?" she didn't sound nearly as argumentative either; Mahone took a moment to muse before responding. "She was when she died, but we don't know if this was always the case or that religious denomination would matter to Scofield. It seems to me the church's location would be the most important factor."**

"**It's worth checking into," definitely not as argumentative.**

**She was opening her mouth, perhaps to prove him wrong when Frank Tancredi entered the room. Mahone saw her eyes shift to the door, watched as they softened and then turned to take in the man's disheveled look for himself. Tancredi looked like he hadn't slept in a week and Mahone figured it must be nearing that.**

"**Sir, we've checked the Catholic churches with no luck. We're moving on to any and all condemned churches. We will find them."**

**Frank nodded, but the hope was gone from his eyes. Mahone had the feeling the man believed his daughter was dead and was just going through the motions. But he hoped to prove Tancredi wrong.**

"**Let's start with First Baptist...Praise Temple Baptist…Go down the list until we find them." Mahone's eyes flicked to the man who had been standing quietly, awaiting further instruction," Get moving Agent…now."**

"**Yes Sir!" seconds later, a man with a mission, Agent Hale was moving out the door.**

**XXXXX**

**Crumpling up the Styrofoam cup he held in his hand, Mahone tossed it aside and grabbed the piece of paper listing the abandoned churches in and around the Chicago area. His eyes moved slowly over the black print as if he had missed something, but what?**

**The list was in alphabetical order, from First Baptist to Stone Temple Baptist. He was still studying the page when something occurred to him. **

**And while it was probably a long shot, the need to keep busy drove him. Pulling his chair closer to the desk, his long fingers found a home on the keypad of his computer and he began to type.**

**Knowing that his men would start at the top of the list as ordered, Mahone chose a different path. With a few taps, Stone Temple Baptist Church appeared in the search engine at the top of the screen and he hit enter. Mahone wasn't really expecting much but when the results popped up his eyes widened. **_**'Formerly, St. Nickolas Catholic Church… Stone Temple Baptist was renovated in the 90's and closed in 2005 after a small fire, thought to be arson...' **_

"**Son of a bitch!"**

**He was just reaching for the phone to redirect his team when Agent Morgan sailed through the door.**

"**You found something," this wasn't a question and he didn't bother answering.**

**Agent Morgan could probably feel the electric current in the air, the same current that was making every hair on the back of Mahone's neck stand up.**

**He had found something all right.**

**Jumping to his feet, he was already moving as he barked his commands into the phone. "Stone Temple Baptist, 60623 English. I want every man we have on this!"**

**Mahone didn't notice Agent Morgan's eyes riveted on him as he finished relaying his orders. It wasn't until he had slipped his cell phone into his pocket and was speeding past her that he even remembered her presence in the room at all.**

**Matching the urgency in his stride as she struggled to keep up with him, "How can you be so sure they're at Stone Temple Baptist?"**

**Mahone barely looked her way, "I Googled it."**

**XXXXX**

**The church wasn't dark, the pews lined up like silent sentinels could attest to this. But it was dim enough for Sara, in her haste, to bump into the last pew. It was almost as if the heavy bench had jumped right out in front of her.**

**This thought, along with many others, leapt into her head even as she winced at the scraping sound of wood on wood. Even as her already pounding heart sped despite the reasoning that Michael couldn't possibly hear her through the closed door, and she had closed the door, she was certain of it. Not to mention the fact that the room was sound proofed, or so he had promised the day of her arrival.**

**Still the scraping sound had had the affect of finger nails on a chalk board and Sara's shin was still throbbing from the bump.**

**She ignored the pain and pushed on, her immediate goal the big double doors that seemed so very far away. She was almost there when her eyes were drawn to the small sofa, chair and coffee table set off to a side of the room that had been cleared, most likely to allow for this small living space.**

**The sofa and chair were worn and mended with duct tape, most likely curbside treasures, the table nicked and scarred, but Sara barely registered these things as her focus went to the objects laid out on the table: a set of car keys and her cell phone. The battery and her SM card rested next to the phone. Dissected but undamaged. It made sense that Michael would disassemble the device, things like that could be traced, couldn't they?**

**Quickly, but quietly Sara scooped everything up, her nervous fingers almost fumbling the items but she managed to keep her grip long enough to stuff everything but the set of keys into one of the pockets of the sweatpants she was wearing. The keys she gripped tightly, to keep them from knocking together.**

**She was turning to head for the door when she noticed the duffle bag. It was setting on the floor next to the sofa. Against her better judgment, but her curiosity getting the better of her, Sara moved quietly to the sofa. The soft sound of fabric on fabric breaking the heavy silence as her backside made contact with the edge of the sofa. In contrast, the zipper of the duffle bag equaled, or so it seemed to Sara, the zip of a rocket as she wincingly eased it along it's track.**

**Pushing open the heavy nylon she peered into the bag. The documents, passports, new identities for the three brother's glared accusingly up at Sara, as if to ask why she was doing this to them.**

**Taking a deep breath, she averted her eyes and eased the documents out placing them beside her on the sofa, where they instantly slid, the papers on the top moving to reveal a fourth passport. She reached for it not needing to open the small blue folder to know what she would find. But somehow she did need to see it.**

**Her own face stared up at her, the photo one she didn't recognize at first, but then it hit her. A friend had snapped the picture with Sara's own cell phone a month or so back. She thought she had deleted it…**

**Sara Michaels, her new identity blurred for a moment as the reversal of the two printed words, Michael's Sara…refusing to go unnoticed, brought tears of pain to her eyes.**

**Swallowing back her tears, Sara placed the passport on top of the other documents.**

**With hands that were shaking even more, she reached back into the bag.**

**The rest of the duffle's contents were what one would expect, clothing, toiletries…a wallet.**

**Sara hesitantly reached for the smooth brown leather. It was a bi-fold, just a cheap $20.00 wallet worn around the edges from being carried in a back pocket. Michael's back pocket.**

**Why was she doing this to herself? Why not just go? Michael could wake up any moment and notice she was missing. Still her finger's disobeyed and closed around the soft leather, as if her heart were leading the way, as if it had an agenda all it's own.**

**Sara opened the wallet slowly as if it too would make a mountainous noise, but it was only the soft moan from her own lips that broke the quiet's pall.**

**The two boys, caught at a happier time, smiled up at her, their eyes squinting from the sun, sure to be more startling than the sky that framed them, bluer than the waves that danced motionless at their sandy feet. They were on the beach, arms slung around one another, in a careless but caring fashion.**

**Like brothers…**

**Sara's eyes filled again and she brushed the soft sleeve of her shirt across them to clear her vision.**

**She couldn't do this. Maybe once the brother's were free…once they were in Panama, then she could slip away. If she left now Michael would panic, he would panic and rush things. They would get caught. But he was a murderer and…And she no longer cared.**

**Her eyes swam over the unscarred flesh of the blue eyed boy, the smaller of the two…She had seen glimpses of that boy in Michael and it was Lincoln that kept that small piece of him alive. With time, maybe the two brothers could get that back?**

**Shoving the items back into the bag took no more than a few seconds, the zipper louder than a jet's zip this time followed and then Sara was rising from the sofa. She was about to retrieve the items from her pocket so that she could return them to their spot on the table when the floor board creaked.**

**Her eyes flew up at the small sound that was like a fire cracker in the silence and then they were opening wide in a freezing horror. **

**His hair mussed as if from sleep, a very much alive Paul Kellerman was standing no more than five feet from her.**

**He's alive? Paul's alive and he was sneaking up on me.**

**This thought flew through the windows of Sara's mind and then it was gone like vapor in the wind, only to be replaced by the certainty of, Paul's here and he's going to kill me. It was as if her pulse pounded out each word in slow motion, Paul's…here…and…he's…going…to…kill…me… But that made no sense because her heart was speeding.**

**A smirk snaked onto Paul's lips. Her growing fear was apparent. "What do we have here…little birdie thinking about flying the coop? I can practically see your little birdie heart pounding from here…"**

**Sara's eyes darted to the sofa where the car keys lay. In order to search through the duffle bag she had set them aside. The keys would have made a good weapon. She cursed herself for only a moment and then through her escalating panic she remembered the syringe tucked into the tightened waistband of her pants. If she could only get to it in time. **

"**Paul…you're alive…I'm…I'm glad" it was all she could manage in her efforts to make nice...to delay the inevitable. **

**The words left a dirty aftertaste in her mouth.**

"**Did you think that I wasn't, Sara? Is that what Michael told you? What a sly bastard. No wonder you looked like you'd seen a ghost!" Paul's smirk which was out in full glory shattered into a laugh that raised the hairs on the back of Sara's neck.**

**If he gets a hold of me…**

**Sara's feet instantly came un-glued and she shuffled back two paces. The small table was somewhere off to her left, the sofa behind it. The chair was to her right. She couldn't let Paul corner her in. If she wasn't careful he could easily do so, taking advantage of her panicked state. Hoping it would go unnoticed, Sara consciously eased her body further right, bringing her a little closer to the double doors of the church.**

**She could make a run for it…**

"**You could always make a run for it…" his amused voice echoed her thoughts.**

**Sara froze, her eyes never leaving his face.**

**Paul liked the chase.**

**Her mind filled with the horrible things Paul would do to her if he caught her, and he would catch her, Sara knew this with a certainty. If she ran he would catch her and the encounter would be volatile. But if she could somehow control the situation...If she could get to the syringe...Get close enough…**

**The plan was crazy. But not only was it crazy, it could easily get her killed…or worse.**

**But she wasn't going to run…and if she wasn't going to run this was her only hope.**

**Sara took another step. This time in Paul's direction.**

**The expression on his face changed from one of amusement to amused surprise. "What are you up to little bird?"**

**He stayed where he was, still looking relaxed, his belief not daunted in the least, that he was still the one in control of the situation. Sara almost let this sway her. Almost let his reaction, or lack of reaction freeze the puddles that her reluctant feet had temporarily become stuck in. At least he hadn't launched himself at her…yet.**

"**I'm not up to anything…It's just…" Sara made herself speak, hoping to sound friendly and inviting. She paused and pushed her hair back from her eyes, to lock gazes with him, "we don't have to tell Michael about this, you know? This can be our secret Paul," her hand had moved to the collar of her shirt where she played her fingers along the edges of thin fabric attempting to draw his eyes to her skin.**

**His eyes took in her white flesh and then he was moving. He took two steps before stopping and despite her slamming heart, Sara somehow stood her ground.**

**He was so close…too close…but she needed him closer still, if this was going to work.**

"**Our secret?" His head was cocked to the side as if studying her, as if he was still trying to figure out what she was up to.**

**A chill moved along Sara's wired spine, but she nodded and took another three steps, her movements closing the gap between them. There was less than half a foot between them now.**

**All it would take…**

**His fingers moved up to graze her neck, the pulse beating there a worthy rival to any speed metal band. She darted her tongue out to swab her dry lips and his eyes followed.**

"**You forgot something Sara…" She noticed the smile on his lips turn nasty a second before he slammed her body into the wall.**

"**You forgot that I like it rough!" Paul said as he hauled Sara from where she now lay stunned and gasping on the floor. The impact with which she had hit the wall had knocked the wind from her and she couldn't seem to catch her breath.**

**Everything was happening as if in slow motion, one minute Paul was standing over her and the next he was forcing her up and against the wall, his body pressing into her, convincing her that there was more to come.**

"**I want you to stay awake for this. Pity I can't let you scream. I really wanted to hear you scream, Sara, but we'll make do," he sounded almost remorseful as his body pressed into her again.**

**She had to get to the syringe before he discovered it.**

**A quizzical expression lit his face and Sara felt all hope leave her, he had felt the syringe in her waistband.**

"**What's this?" his fingers roughly moved between them and down her body, but instead of stopping at her waist as Sara had feared he would, his hand moved lower and dove into her pocket.**

"**What do we have here?" he repeated, as if there was a chance she hadn't heard him. His meaty fingers were gripping the cell phone and its life blood. He brought the pieces up in front of her watering eyes. Sara was still having a hard time breathing, he was pressing too much of his weight against her lungs and rib cage. And she held the small hope that he would not notice that she was crying, that he would believe the wetness on her cheeks was due only to a lack of oxygen. She didn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction.**

**He waggled the phone in front of her face, "Who ya gonna call Sara, huh, Ghostbusters? Get it; you thought I was dead…thought you were seeing a ghost?" His laugh spewed out into her face then, a lunatic spray of spittle and bad breath hitting her hot tear slick cheeks.**

**He tossed the phone parts aside and reached for her face, his fingers squeezing, his short, trim nails sliding, leaving snail-like marks along her wet cheeks. "Michael doesn't even have to know about this Sara, it can be our secret."**

**And then he slapped her hard.**

**The blow knocked the side of her head into the wall and she felt the tip of a painful heat bloom as a bruise took shape on her left cheekbone. Soon the heat would spread and Sara's whole face would be on fire. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she licked the split in her rapidly swelling lower lip, but she didn't have time to think about these things as Paul yanked her head back by her hair.**

"**Fight me you stupid cunt!" he spat harsely**

"**Fuck you!" Sara spat back, the red spittle dotting his unshaven cheeks.**

**She squeezed her eyes closed in preparation for the blow that her words were sure to inspire. But it was cold steel that met her hot swollen cheek instead.**

**She opened her eyes to meet his seething blue stare. "You're really not that much fun, you know? I don't know what my brother sees in you…oops...saw in you." He traced the edge of the Glock 19 along her chin. Looking down, Sara could see that the gun was fitted with a silencer. He noticed her taking this knowledge in. "Can't wake the whole church…God needs his rest, Sara."**

"**Let her go, Paul."**

"**Michael!" One second she was against the wall the next she was in front of Paul, the gun now pressed into her neck from where he stood behind her.**

"**She was trying to escape Michael. She had the phone." Paul nodded toward the discarded pieces. "She was gonna call the cops. I caught her trying to put the damn thing back together."**

"**He's lying, Michael! Yes, I was going to leave. But then I couldn't…I couldn't leave…I care about you Michael." Sara pleaded, her eyes searching his. "I swear Michael...I know how much this means to you."**

"**I care about you Michael, I know how much this means to you!" Paul mocked savagely. "She's a lying bitch Michael!"**

**Michael's cold eyes moved from Paul, to Sara and then to the now shattered cell phone lying on the floor.**

"**Let her go Paul. I'll deal with this."**

"**You'll deal with this? How, Michael? Slap her on the hand. Take her upstairs, cuff her to the bed and then what, bring her a bologna sandwich? Fuck that! I have the gun this time! I'm the one calling the shots!"**

**In Paul's agitation, the gun dug into Sara's neck and it was this that **_**woke her up**_**. All of Paul's concentration was on Michael. He no longer saw her as a threat, if he ever had and she highly doubted it. But maybe his underestimation of her could work in her favor?**

**The problem was, when she went for the syringe of morphine, Michael would see what she was doing. Her eyes sought his out and caught them.**

**Paul was still yelling, something about Michael always getting his way, but Sara was tuning it out. She wondered what Michael was thinking as her hand started to move toward her waistband. She was begging him with her eyes to not give her away, to not tip his brother off. And so far Paul was unaware of her movements.**

**But if Michael were to sound the alarm it would all be over.**

**And even if he didn't, how long would it take for the morphine to do its work? Long enough for Paul to squeeze off a few killing shots, first in her direction and then in Michael's?**

**It's all or nothing, Sara thought as she pulled the syringe out from under her shirt and into plain view.**

**If Michael saw it, and Sara was sure that he must have, he wore his best poker face. She slid the cap off and squeezed her palm around it to keep from dropping it and giving herself away.**

"**Let her go Paul," Michael tried one last time, and Sara saw it for what it was, Michael giving his brother one last chance to walk away. But she was surprised when Michael took a step toward them.**

"**Stop!" Paul yelled into her ear, the sound almost deafening. "I'll fucking shoot her…I swear I'll fucking kill her Michael!"**

"**Give me the gun Paul."**

**Michael took another step, his hand held out, palm up as if to receive the gun. **

**What was he doing?! Sara's grip on the syringe tightened. She needed to think! She quickly calculated Paul's height, 6'2, and then aimed blindly for the spot the main artery in his upper thigh would be located.**

**She was as ready as she would ever be.**

"**I said stop!" The gun left her neck and now Paul was pointing it at Michael, who froze in his tracks as soon as the barrel of the silencer landed on him.**

"**Do it." Michael said, his cool blue eyes never leaving Paul's red face. "Do it...now." It took Sara a few seconds to realize that Michael was not talking to his brother. He was telling her to use the syringe.**

**Without another thought, Sara slammed her arm down hard, her grip sure on the syringe and then she was hitting meat, the plunger pressing down on impact.**

**All of this happened in seconds accompanied by the sound of a gunshot, a muffled **_**thwap**_** as the bullet moved through the silencer.**


	26. Chapter 26

**It all happened so quickly then, it was as if the slow motion grip of moments before had let loose its iron fist and allowed time to flow, unfettered, seemingly faster than the second hand of a clock could possibly tick. As if the hushed firing of the gun through the silencer said "go!" in a desperate race for survival.**

**The muffled **_**thwap **_**of the bullet was followed closely by the louder thump of Michael's body hitting the hardwood floor of the church as he dove for cover, cover that was inadequate at best, Sara had a second to think, and then she was moving.**

**Anticipating the gun to swing in her direction next, she jumped aside, at the same time, shoving Paul as hard as she could, hoping to throw him off balance. No such luck, but the bullet went astray, sending up plaster dust as it thudded harmlessly into the wall to her left.**

"**Sara, get down!" Michael shouted from his semi-crouched position on the floor, sending the sound echoing through the church, its resistant walls pushing the deep timbered demand back at them.**

"**Don't move! Don't you fucking move!" Paul's voice was strong…too strong, freezing Sara in her tracks. Why wasn't he going down? How long before the morphine did its job? Desperate thoughts as Sara's eyes moved frantically from one brother to the next, her body positioned as if in play; an unwilling participant in a morbid game of monkey in the middle.**

"**You bitch! What did you do to me?" Reaching blindly, Paul grasped the syringe and pulled it out of his thigh, tossing it aside.**

**The gun, aimed at Sara, dead bang, was held firmly even as Paul blinked the encroaching glaze from his eyes.**

**The morphine was starting to work! Sara's heart pounded fiercely, insistently, as hope blossomed within her that everything could still be okay, that the boogeyman really could die, unlike all of the horror movies she had watched as a teen, peeking out from between the fingers of the hand held over her eyes.**

"**What the fuck did you give me?" Paul's arm was swaying now, as if the gun were suddenly too heavy to hold up. He staggered forward a step, letting it fall to his side.**

"**I'll kill you for this, you stupid bitch," calm words slurred in an almost eerie hush that sent chills up and down Sara's sweat soaked spine filled the silence, taking with it any element of the possibility that she and Michael might survive this.**

**Paul was raising the gun when time once again did a one eighty, slowing...**

**Sara watched as Michael, who hadn't said a word since ordering her to the ground sprang up from his crouched position and launched himself at Paul, hitting him with enough force to send the two of them slamming to the hardwood with a jarring, grunting thud.**

**All she could do was watch frozen, as Michael's fist slammed not once, but twice into the side of Paul's head making the man grunt in pain.**

**But he was still alert…Why wouldn't he just die? Silent tears, tears she didn't even feel began to flow down her ashen cheeks as Sara watched.**

"**I fucking hate you…I've always fucking hated you!" Paul spat viciously, his voice slurring badly now. This was followed by a sound that froze Sara's blood. The **_**thwap… thwap **_**of the gun, muffled all the more by the bodies of the two grunting men that warmed its cold metal between them, as it filled the air, its deadly voice echoing, chiming in with finality, its agreement.**

**Sara stood still frozen, but for the movement of the tears that traced lazily along her cheeks. Not even the breath in her chest was expelled, as she held it waiting, her heart pounding painfully within.**

_**Waiting…**_

**A pitiful sob, one that startled through Sara broke the surface of her stillness, when Paul shoved Michael off of him. And then she was gasping in air, her panic making her almost hyperventilate as she backed away from him.**

**Her wild coppery eyes never left Paul as she watched him sit up. His shirt was spotted with blood, the hair on his chest slick with it where the buttons having ripped free, left him exposed. Was he bleeding? Her eyes flitted to where Michael still lay, unmoving. And then she saw the blood…He was bleeding...Bleeding because of her…in an effort to save her.**

**Paul followed her eyes to where his brother lay.**

"**Fucking pussy," he slurred almost savagely. His eyes seemed open only by sheer force of will now. His head was drooping only to be hauled upright on his unsteady neck.**

**Paul still held the gun, but he was making no effort to lift it, to point it at her. He seemed content to just sit there holding it and for that, at least for that, Sara was grateful.**

**He was breathing deeper now too…deeper but slowing as his heart slowed.**

_**Tick tock...Tick tock...**_

"**Why won't you die?" Sara whispered, causing Paul's head, which had fallen again, this time at a slightly downward angle, to lift. He looked at her then, his eyes almost clearing, a dynamic mix of drugged out haze and clear blue clarity. Only seconds had ticked by but it seemed an eternity as Sara stood there in the open expecting him to lift the gun and fire into her for her indiscretion, ending this…for once…for all…**

**And then Paul was hit as if by a painful spasm that sent him toppling to the side, a stream of white vomit spilling gracelessly from his blue tinted lips as he sputtered and continued to shake. His eyelids which had fallen closed again were twitching open, but the whites were all that was visible.**

**Sara watched, as if fascinated at the car wreck in front of her. She could not move.**

**She watched until Paul's body grew still, as her own breath returned to normal, even as her assailant's waned and ceased, leaving the air once again silent, but for the pounding of her heart in her ears.**

**And then she was moving, giving Paul's body a wide berth as she quickly made her way to Michael's side. **

**Michael was so still that at first Sara thought he was gone, but the slow beating of his pulse against her fingertips insisted otherwise.**

**His t-shirt and Sara realized it was the same one he had been wearing when she pulled him into the shower with her was now glued to his chest, with not water this time, but blood. The brilliant red was leaking around the two ragged holes in the once blue material glaring out at her, screaming out at her that she was a doctor, for Christ's sake, she had to do something. But what?**

**And then she was stripping off her own shirt and pressing it to his wounds to staunch the flow of blood as best she could. She had to call an ambulance. But the phone was in pieces…**

"**Who you gonna call…"**

**Scared eyes moved to the still corpse lying a few feet away. If Paul had a cell phone…**

**She was almost to her feet when Michael's eyelids fluttered and then opened. "Sara," this one word emerged with a spray of red as his mouth opened expelling a breath.**

"**Don't…don't try to talk…I'm here, Michael…but don't try to talk…please…I…I need to get you some help, an ambulance. I need to call someone."**

**But he was shaking his head before she could even finish, his once strong arm now pulling her weakly back to his side. "No, no Sara." He coughed spraying more blood from his now crimson lips. "I need you to listen to me."**

"**Then just let me get some of the supplies from upstairs," she pleaded. "Maybe I could…" He was shaking his head again. It was then that the certainty that he was slipping away filled her.**

**Tears flooded Sara's eyes and she nodded. She would listen…If that was all she could do; she would at least do this for him. The church his confessional and she his priest if that was what he wanted. "I'm listening Michael."**

"**Tell them he didn't do it. Tell them it was me, not Lincoln." A coughing fit followed as if the sentence had been too much for his struggling lungs.**

"**I will, I'll tell them, Michael, I promise." She lifted his head then and placed it gently in her lap.**

**His eyes were glazed with pain as he looked up at her. One hand still held the now soaked rag that was her blouse over his wounds; the other she smoothed gently over his shorn head.**

"**I want you to know something," his voice was a whisper she had to lean into to hear. "They were going to lock me up…S'why I did it…A closet…" a sputtering cough shook through Michael, but he didn't let it stop him. "I owed them money, ninety grand, Sara…They were going to keep me locked up till Linc did a job for them…as a payment…I couldn't let them do that…" More coughing and Sara wanted to tell him to just hush, that he didn't have to explain anything to her, even as his words tore through her, as sure as the bullets had torn through Michael, leaving her with an ache that could never be rivaled…that felt as if it might never heal.**

"**It's okay Michael…It's okay…I…I understand and it's okay." His face blurred as tears once again filled Sara's eyes and then she was blinking them away, not wanting to miss a single second of the life still left within his blue eyes. "Now I want **_**you**_** to know something," it was her turn to confess, "I love you Michael…Do you hear me...I love you like I have never loved anyone..."**

**His smile was all the answer she needed.**

**And if ever she had spoken the truth, it was then… spoken quietly as she held him, trying desperately to hold onto someone she was never meant to have; wishing she could hold him hostage, to just keep him there, even as the smile slipped from his face…even as he silently slipped away…leaving her alone in the quiet church.**

**Only minutes had passed, but later Sara would swear it was hours and then the voice of Special Agent Alexander Mahone speaking through a bullhorn broke through that silence, demanding a surrender.**

**Placing a soft kiss against his temple, Sara eased Michael's head from her lap.**

**Moments later she was opening the door, the flashing blue lights reflecting in the tears on her face as she made her way on unsteady legs down the stairs and into the yard.**

**Sara heard as if from a distance, a commanding voice shouting instructions and then the even louder demand of "Hold your fire!" as she fell into her father's waiting arms.**

**For the men backlit by blue flashing light, it was finally over...**

**THE END**

**(Authors note:)**

****

Please don't hate me too much for letting Michael die? This was just the way I saw things ending since chapter one. I am planning to write an epilogue, so keep an eye out for it.

Thanks for sticking with me all, and thank you for reading my words, even if you didn't like this last chapter.

Julie


	27. Chapter 27

**_xxx When my time comes...Forget the wrong that I've done...Help me leave behind some...Reasons to be missed..._**

Don't resent me...And when you're feeling empty...Keep me in your memory...

Leave out all the rest...**_Leave out all the rest...xxx_**

**_Lyrics to 'Leave out all the rest' by: Linkin Park_**

**xxX Epilogue Xxx**

**(4 months later )**

**As she placed a hand against the growing hill that was her stomach, Sara watched Lincoln Burrows step from his apartment house and look to the sky, a sky reminiscent of his brother's eyes. She wondered what he was thinking, but she thought that maybe she knew. She could think of little else herself, reminded at first with each tiny movement within and now with the growing strength of the kicks from her son. **

**And he would be strong…**

**As she knew herself to be stronger. Sara had battled with her guilt over Michael's death, was still at war with her emotions, but she knew that no matter her actions the end would have been tragic, maybe even more so…She'd had much more to lose than she even knew.**

**Michael's son…**

**With her palm tracing her belly, she could imagine the steady race of the baby's heart, strongly beating within. She could picture the eyes of her child, blue like those of his father, but looking upon a life less tragic, a life filled with hopes and dreams, a wonderful life with love and understanding. Sara would make sure of that. **

**Brushing at the tears that filled her eyes, she started the ignition and put the car in gear. She drove passed the large man, who thanks to her private testimony had been free to start a new life, just as Michael would have wanted. **

**Sara had made good on her promise, but she had made no attempt to contact Lincoln Burrows. She hadn't felt ready for that four months ago, and she wasn't ready for that now. That wasn't her reason for coming today. She had come there today for Michael. To Check up for him. **

"**He looks good, Michael," Sara whispered softly.**

**She had to smile at this, her need to speak aloud, but it was a sad smile.**

**Stopping at a light, she watched in her rearview as Lincoln disappeared around the street corner and out of her line of sight.**

**Yes, this was enough for now…**

**But maybe someday their paths would cross again, when and if the time came for her unborn child to meet his uncle. **

**That would be for the future to decide and as Sara had come to learn, nothing in this life was ever certain.**

**~THE END~**

**(Story End Notes) **

********************************************************************

**That's all of my sad story. I hope it didn't disappoint too much, as I know you all wanted the happy Panama ending. But Michael did leave Sara with a part of himself and that is something.**

**Thank you for reading,**

**Julie**


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